


When Oliver Met Elio

by mae428



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: But Oliver & Elio, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, M/M, When Harry Met Sally - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:21:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22056223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mae428/pseuds/mae428
Summary: In 1983, college graduates Oliver Burns and Elio Perlman share a contentious car ride from Chicago to New York. After a series of run-ins over the years, they attempt to stay friends without sex becoming an issue between them.
Relationships: Oliver & Elio Perlman, Oliver/Elio Perlman
Comments: 245
Kudos: 235
Collections: CMBYN Big Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank the organizers of the CMBYN Big Bang for putting this together (and especially for extending the posting date!). I hope you all like this take on When Harry Met Sally but with our favorites, Oliver and Elio. Since this is now complete, I'll be posting 1 chapter a day for the next week. Happy New Year, everyone!

**1983 - University of Chicago**

Elio sees them a mile away. They’re wrapped up in one another and he’s kissing the _life_ out of her, practically sucking her soul out of her mouth. Elio rolls up slowly, the car window open, just in time for them to pull apart.

“I love you,” Chiara says, looking up at the guy with her big doe eyes.

“I love _you_.”

And then they’re kissing again. Elio tries not to gag and sits there, waiting for the kiss to end. It doesn’t end. He clears his throat, but they don’t hear him. He shifts and accidentally-on-purpose hits the car horn _hard_ , startling the couple. Chiara _finally_ sees Elio and jumps over to the car window, tugging the guy behind her.

“Elio! Ciao! Elio, this is Oliver Burns. Oliver, this is Elio Perlman.”

“Nice to meet you,” Oliver says, and Elio is a bit surprised by the deep timbre of his voice. It’s soothing, and he figures it won’t be so bad listening to him for the entire car ride.

Elio sticks his hand out the window to shake Oliver’s. “You too. You want to drive the first shift?

“Nah, you’re already there -- you can start.”

Elio rolls his eyes and watches in the rearview mirror as Oliver loads his duffel bag, a box of records, and a baseball bat into the trunk. Luckily he doesn’t have much stuff, a majority of the back of the car packed with Elio’s things: suitcases, stereo speakers, a guitar, boxes of books.

“Call me,” Chiara begs, and Elio has to physically keep himself from gagging.

“As soon as I get there,” Oliver promises.

“From the road!”

“Before that. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And then they’re _fucking_ kissing again. Elio sighs and shifts. _Straight people_. He honks the horn again, breaking up the happy couple. “Sorry!” Elio calls out the window, a saccharine smile on his face.

Oliver gets into the car, calling _goodbyes_ and _I love yous_ out the window until Chiara is out of sight. Once he settles back down in his seat, Oliver takes out a bunch of grapes and starts eating two at a time.

Elio, trying to ignore the obnoxious munching, stares studiously out onto the highway. “I have this all figured out. It’s an 18-hour trip, which breaks down into 6 shifts of 3 hours each. Or, we can break it down by mileage. Up to you.”

“Grape?”

Elio wrinkles his nose. “No, thanks. I don’t eat between meals.”

Oliver goes to spit a grape seed out the window, which isn’t down, and Elio has to grip the steering wheel tighter to not totally lose his shit. “I’ll roll down the window.” They’re quiet, Oliver crunching and spitting more grapes for a few minutes. “I hope this isn’t going to be one of those trips with a lot of long, awkward silences.”

“Same,” Elio says, chancing a glance at Oliver. He’s quite handsome: long legs, sandy hair, gorgeous blue eyes, and a strong nose.

There’s a long, awkward silence.

“Why don’t you tell me the story of your life?”  
  
“The story of my life?”

“We’ve got 18 hours to kill before we get to New York.”

Elio huffs a laugh. “The story of my life isn’t even going to get us out of Chicago. Nothing’s happened to me yet, that’s why I’m going to New York.”

“So something can happen to you…” Oliver clarifies, sounding skeptical.

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m going to finish my studies and become a composer and pianist.”

“So you can write and play music for other people to listen to.”

“That’s one way to look at it…”

“Suppose nothing happens to you,” Oliver proposes. “Suppose you live your _whole life_ and nothing happens to you and you never meet anyone and you never become anything and finally you die one of those New York deaths where nobody even notices for two weeks until the smell drifts out into the hallway.”

Elio looks at Oliver, absolutely scandalized. “Chiara mentioned you had a dark side.”

Oliver wiggled his brows. “That’s what drew her to me. Don’t you have a dark side? Hmm...no, you’re probably one of those cheerful people who dots their i’s with little hearts.”

“I have just as much of a dark side as the next person,” Elio tries to defend, but Oliver jumps back in. _Who the hell is this guy?_

“Oh, really? When I get a new book, I read the last page first. That way, just in case I die, I know how it ends. That, my friend, is a dark side.”

Elio is fucking irritated now. This is who he has to spend the next...he checks his watch...seventeen and a half hours with? “That doesn’t mean you’re deep or anything. I’m basically a happy person.”

“So am I.”

“And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”

“So, if you’re so busy being happy, do you think about death?”

“Yes.”

“Sure you do. A fleeting thought that drifts in and out of the transom of your mind. I spend _hours_ , _days_ \--”

“And you think this makes you a better person?”

“Look, I’m going to be prepared, and you’re not. That’s all.”

They fall quiet again until Elio asks, “What are you going to do in New York?”

“I don’t know. I just graduated from a philosophy graduate program.” _Ah, so he’s older._ “I never really thought I was going to be a philosopher, just saw it as a jumping-off point.”

“You _should be_ a philosopher. The kind that explains to people that we’re all going to die. I think you’d be really good at that.”

Hours go by. They switch driving twice. They chat occasionally. Elio falls asleep, head against the window, and is woken up when Oliver turns on the radio. He groans and tries to crack the crick in his neck. They start talking again, this time about movies, and they get into it with _Casablanca_.

“He doesn’t want her to stay. That’s why he puts her on the plane,” Oliver says as he takes the next exit.

“I don’t think _she_ wants to stay.”

“Of course she does! Wouldn’t you rather be with Humphrey Bogart than that other guy?”

“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in Casablanca married to a man who runs a bar.” He realizes, belatedly, that Oliver probably saw the rainbow flag sticker on the back of his car.

“You’d rather have a passionless marriage than live with the man you’ve had the greatest sex of your life with, just because he owns a bar and that’s all he does.” They pull up to a diner and Oliver puts the car in park.

“Yes. And so would anyone else in their right mind. People are practical, even Ingrid Bergman, which is why she gets on that plane.”

“Oooh,” Oliver says with a laugh. “Now I understand.” He gets out of the car, leaving Elio spluttering in the passenger seat.

“Wha-?” he asks, a bit stupidly, kicking into action when Oliver looks back at him expectantly. Elio scrambles out of the car and chases Oliver up the steps of the diner. “What?”

Oliver doesn’t answer until they’re in front of the hostess. “You obviously haven’t had great sex yet. Table for two.”

“Right this way.”

Elio huffs, indignant, and follows after the hostess and Oliver. “Yes, I have!”

“No, you haven’t.”

“It just so happens I have had _plenty_ of good sex.” It goes quiet around them, everyone staring for a second before returning to their food.

“With whom?”

“Excuse me?”

“With whom have you had this good sex?”

Elio is quiet. They look at their menus. Oliver takes a sip of water. He figures it’s now or never. It’s not like “Archie Clark.”

“Archie. Archibald? No.” Oliver laughs and closes his menu. “No, I’m sorry. You didn’t have great sex with an Archibald.”

“I did too!”

“No. An ‘Archibald’ can do your taxes. Or if you want to be part of a monarchy, he’s your man. But between the sheets is not Archibald’s strong suit.” Oliver flutters his lashes and clasps a hand over his heart. “‘I love you, Archibald. Do it to me, Archibald, I can’t get enough of you, Archibald. Your dick is so good inside me, Archibald.’ It just doesn’t work.”

Elio is about to retort but their waitress shows up in the nick of time. “What can I get ya?”

“I’ll have the Number Three,” Oliver says with a congenial smile, as if he weren’t just saying obscenities.

“What kind of bread?”

“Surprise me.”

The waitress turns to Elio. “And for you?”

“The peach pie a la mode.”

“Alright, peach pie a la -”

“But I’d like the pie heated, and I don’t want the ice cream _on top_ , I want it on the side. And I’d like strawberry instead of vanilla if you have it. If not, then no ice cream, just whipped cream, but only if it’s real. If it’s out of a can, then nothing.”

“Not even the pie?”

“No, just the pie. But not heated.”

The waitress leaves and Elio turns back to Oliver, ready to get back to their conversation, but Oliver is staring at him with this look of utter disbelief.

“What?”

“Nothing. So how come you broke up with Archibald?”

“How do you know we broke up?”  
  
“Becuase if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be with me, you’d be with Archie the Wonder Schlong.”

“First of all, I’m not _with you_ ,” Elio corrects. “Second of all, it’s none of your business why we broke up.” They’re quiet again and Elio takes a sip of water. “Well, if you must know, it was because I had these Days of the Week jockstraps.”

“Days of the Week -?”

“Yes. The days of the week. I thought they were sort of funny. And he asked me incessantly why I never wore Sunday. He got all suspicious - where’s Sunday? Where had I left Sunday? I told him, but he didn’t believe me. They don’t make Sunday. Because of God.”

“And that’s what broke you up?”

“Yes.”  
  
“How many men have you slept with?”

Elio makes a scandalized sound. He hesitates, not going to give Oliver the satisfaction of an answer. “Two.”

“You’ve been with two people and you’re telling me based on two people you know whether or not you’ve had great sex?”

“How many have you? Women, I mean?”

“Between zero and three. Women, I mean.” Oliver smirks and leans back in his seat. “For men? Between four and a hundred.”

Elio chokes on the sip of water in his mouth. _That_ was a bombshell. “Is it closer to four or closer to a hundred?” Before Oliver can answer, though, the waitress comes by with their food.

After paying the bill, Elio looks up to find Oliver staring at him with a small smile on his face. “What? Have I got food on my face?”

“You’re a very attractive person.”

Elio blushes and wants to sink into the bench seat. “Oh...thank you.”

“Chiara never said you were attractive.”

“Maybe she doesn’t think I’m attractive.”

“It’s not a matter of opinion. You are very attractive.”

“Oliver, Chaira is my best friend’s cousin.”

They get up and head to the car, Elio stretching out before climbing into the passenger seat.

“So?” Oliver prompts as they slide into the car.

“So. You’re going with her.”

“So?”

“So you’re coming onto me!”

“No, I wasn’t! Can’t I say someone’s attractive without it being a come-on?” Elio gapes at Oliver, utterly shocked. “Okay, let’s say for the sake of argument it was a come-on. What do you want me to do, take it back?”

“You can’t take it back, it’s already out there!”

“Oh god, what are we supposed to do now?” Oliver asks, feigning panic. “Call the cops? It’s already out there?”

“Just let it lie, okay?” Elio says. He starts the ignition and backs out of the parking spot.

“Okay. Let it lie, let it lie.” They pull out onto the road. “So, you want to spend the night in the motel?”

“ _Oliver!_ ”

“See what I did? I didn’t let it lie! I said I would and then I went the other way.”

“Oliver,” Elio interrupts, but Oliver is still going off. “Oliver! We are just going to be friends, okay?”

“Oh yeah. Best friends.”

They’re back to silence again until they’re on the main highway again. “You do realize, though, that we can never be friends?”

“How so?”

“What I’m saying is that gay men cannot be friends. The sex part always gets in the way.”

Elio chokes. “So you’re -”

“I’m bi,” Oliver clarifies, winking at Elio.

“Well anyway, that’s not true. I have a number of gay friends and there’s no sex involved.”

“No, you don’t.

“Yes, I do.” They go back and forth until Elio is exasperated. “You’re saying I’m having sex with these men without my knowledge?”

“No, I’m saying they all want to have sex with you.”

“They do not.”

“They do too.” 

“They do not!” And they’re off again, until Elio puts a ceasefire on their bickering. “How do you know?”

“Becuase no man can just be friends with someone he finds attractive. Same goes for men who are into women. He always wants to have sex.”

“So you’re saying a man can be friends with someone he finds unattractive.”

“No. You pretty much want to have sex with anybody. The sex thing is already out there, so the friendship is ultimately doomed.”

“Well, I guess we’re not going to be friends then.”

“I guess not,” Oliver laments, but Elio can tell that he’s not so put out by it.

“That’s a shame. You were the only person I knew in New York.”

When they finally arrive in New York, it feels like they’ve been stuck in this car for _weeks_ instead of hours. Luckily, Oliver fell asleep just before they came over the George Washington Bridge, so Elio was able to drive into the city peace. He takes a deep breath as he looks out toward the skyline. This is it. A new beginning. He’s nervous, sure, but he knows his aunt and uncle are still in Chicago if he needs anything, and his parents are planning on visiting from Italy. He has a support system, even if he doesn’t have any friends.

They hit a pothole coming off the bridge which wakes Oliver up in time for the last leg of their journey. He requests a dropoff in the Village, so Elio rolls the car up in front of Washington Square Park. He stops and puts the car in park, getting out to stretch while Oliver fetches his things from the trunk.

“Well, it was nice knowing ya,” Oliver says.

“Yeah, it was...interesting.”

“Thanks for the ride.”

“You’re welcome.”

Elio nods, so does Oliver. It’s stilted and awkward and Elio just wants the ground to swallow him whole. So, Elio goes for the handshake.

“Well,” Elio says, “have a nice life.”

“You too.”

Elio gets back in the car and starts it up, driving away as Oliver walks off.

**1988 - La Guardia Airport**

Oliver sees them a mile away. They’re wrapped up in one another and he’s kissing the _life_ out of the other guy, practically sucking the souls out of each other’s mouths. Oliver stares as he walks by, readjusting his tie. He’s glad the couple feels comfortable enough to absolutely devour one another in public, but it’s a bit _too much_ for this early in the morning. He raises a brow as he walks past them, staring a bit longer than necessary. _Wait...was that…?_

Oliver stops. Backs up a few steps. Stops right in front of the couple. They’re still kissing. He leans in, peering at the two of them from slightly too close. Finally, the couple breaks apart, and Oliver wonders how they didn’t completely pass out from lack of oxygen. They look a bit startled, but Oliver just laughs.

“Maynard, I thought it was you. Oliver Burns.”

“Oliver! Oliver, how are you?” Maynard sticks out his hand and Oliver shakes it, sparing a glance at the boy hanging off Maynard’s arm.

“Good, good. How ya doin’?”

“Fine.”

“I thought that was you.” Oliver laughs and shakes his head. “Still with the D.A.’s office?”

“Switched over to the other side. You?”

“Teaching at Columbia now.”

The men nod, and there’s an awkward pause, until Maynard turns to the guy next to him. “Gosh, so sorry. Oliver, this is Elio Perlman. Oliver and I used to live in the same building.”

Oliver nods; he knows he’s seen Elio, but he can’t remember where. “Hi.” Elio just nods. “Well, great to see you. See you around.” He heads back down the corridor, toward his gate. _Funny running into Maynard_ , he thinks as he fishes his boarding pass out of his bag. _Elio, Elio...how do I know him?_

As Oliver walks away, Elio looks up at Maynard and lets out a relieved breath, falling against his boyfriend. “Thank _God_ he couldn’t place me. I drove from college to New York with him five years ago and it was the longest night of my life.”

Maynard quirks a brow. “What happened?”

“He made a pass at me and when I said no, he was going with my friend’s cousin. Oh, what was her name…I can’t remember. God, Maynard, don’t get involved with me. I’m 26 years old and can’t even remember the name of the person I was such good friends with that I wouldn’t get involved with her boyfriend.”

“So what happened?”

“I said we can just be friends. And, this part I remember, he said gay men couldn’t really be friends.” Maynard laughs and kisses Elio again. “Do you think it’s true?”

“No.”

“Do you have any other gay friends? Men you’ve never felt attracted to or have had sex with or even kissed?”

“No, but I’ll get one if it’s that important to you.”

“Chiara! That was her name. Thank God. Would have bothered me the entire flight.”

“I’ll miss you,” Maynard says after another kiss. “I love you.”

Elio absolutely melts against Maynard’s side, looking up at him with big doe eyes. He _loves_ hearing that. “You do?”

“Yes.”

“Mmh...I love you too, Maynard.” He’s about to lean in for another kiss, but his flight is called over the loudspeaker and Elio has to scramble a bit to grab all of his bags. He has just enough time to press a quick kiss to Maynard’s cheek before he’s running off toward his gate.

Elio settles in his seat once all of his luggage is stored. He can’t even bring himself to care that he’s stuck in the middle seat. Maynard _loves_ him. He sighs happily, completely and utterly relaxed as the plane takes off. The flight is crowded, but he doesn’t care, the morning’s New York Times left unread in his lap. He’s in love.

Oliver sits in the row behind him, watching that mop of dark curly hair. He _knows_ this kid. He does. He pops his head up over the seat again, trying to look at the slope of the nose, the plump lips. Elio opens his newspaper and Oliver leans further over the seat. The stewardess comes down the aisle and when she asks for Elio’s order, Oliver is finally able to place Elio.

“Do you have Bloody Mary mix?” The stewardess gives an affirmative as she starts to pour. “No, wait. Here’s what I want. Regular tomato juice, not too much ice, and fill it up about three quarters, and then add just a _splash_ of the Bloody Mary mix. Just a splash. And a little piece of lime, but on the side.”

 _Aha._ “University of Chicago, right?”

Elio glances over his shoulder at the man behind him. “Yes.”

“Did you look this good at the University of Chicago?”

Elio pouts at that and sighs wistfully. “No.”

“Did we ever…?”

The man next to Elio clears his throat.

“No,” Elio laughs. “No, Jesus. We drove from Chicago to New York the day after graduation.”

“Would you two like to sit together?” the man on the aisle asks.

Before Elio can object, Oliver is standing up. “Great, thanks!” They’re switching seats and Elio wants to just sink right through the bottom of the plane. “You were a friend of...oh, jeez,” Oliver says as he sits down.

“Chiara,” Elio supplies with a roll of his eyes. “I can’t believe you don’t remember her name.”

“Whatever happened to her anyway?”

“I have no idea.”

“No idea?” You were such a good friend of hers. We didn’t make it because you were such good friends.”

“You went with her,” Elio says, a bit cooly.

“Was it worth it? This sacrifice for a friend you haven’t even kept in touch with?”

“Oliver, you may not believe this, but I never considered not sleeping with you a sacrifice.”

“Fair enough.” They’re quiet again, and Elio thinks he might actually get some peace and quiet. “You were going to be a gymnast.”

“A musician.”

“That’s what I said. So did you?”

“Yes, I’m a musician. I play with the Philharmonic.”

“Great. And you’re with Maynard. That’s great. You’ve been together, what? Three weeks?”

“A month…” Elio looks at Oliver skeptically. _Who the fuck even is this guy?_ “How’d you know?”  
  
“You take someone to the airport, it’s clearly the beginning of the relationship. THat’s why I have never taken anyone to the airport at the beginning of a relationship. Eventually, things move on and you don’t take someone to the airport, and I never wanted anyone to say to me, ‘How come you never take me to the airport anymore?’”

“It’s amazing,” Elio says with an air of faux wonder. “You look like a normal person, but actually you’re the angel of death.”

“I’m getting married,” Oliver drops, seemingly apropos of nothing.

“You are?”  
  
“Yep.”

“ _You_ are?” When Oliver nods, Elio lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Who is she?”

“Aviva Forster. She’s a lawyer. She’s keeping her last name.”  
  
Elio shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re getting married.” He laughs, doubling over a bit in his small airplane seat.

“What’s so funny about it?”

“It’s just so optimistic of you!”

“You’d be amazed at what falling madly in love can do for you.”

“That’s wonderful, Oliver,” Elio says between giggles, trying to put on a serious face. “It’s nice to see you embracing life in this manner.”

“Besides, you just get to a certain point where you get tired of the whole life-of-a-single-guy thing. You know, you meet someone for lunch where you decide you like each other enough to move on to dinner, you go dancing, maybe to Crisco Disco if you’re brave, then you go back to his or her place, you have sex, and then the minute you finish you know what goes through your head? How long do I have to lie here and hold them before I can get up and go home? Is 30 seconds long enough?”

“That’s what you’re thinking? Seriously?”

“Yeah. All men think that.”

“ _I_ don’t.”

“Fine. most men think that. How long do you like to be held afterward, then? All night, right? That’s the problem. Somewhere between 30 seconds and all night is your problem.”

“I don’t have a problem.”

The flight attendant announces that everyone should fasten their seatbelts in preparation for landing and Elio can’t be happier that the flight is so short. He bolts off the plane, grabbing his bags before Oliver can even get in a goodbye. Elio heads toward ground transportation, figuring Oliver must be far enough behind him that he can take the moving sidewalk to his destination.

“You staying over?”

Elio jumps, taken aback by how quickly Oliver seems to have caught up with him. He places a hand on his chest, trying to steady his now racing heart. “Yes.”  
  
“Would you like to have dinner?” At Elio’s suspicious look, Oliver holds his hands up. “What? Just friends.”  
  
“I thought you didn’t believe two gay men couldn’t be friends.”  
  
“When did I say that?”

“On the ride to New York.”

“No, no. I remember. They can’t be friends...unless both of them are involved with other people. Then they can. This is an amendment to the earlier rule. If the two people are in relationships, then the pressure of possible involvement is lifted.” Oliver stops talking and Elio raises a brow. “Although, that doesn’t work either. Because what happens is, the person you’re involved with doesn’t understand why you need to be friends with the person you’re friends with, like it must mean something’s missing from your relationship and you have to go outside to get it, and when you say, ‘No, no, it’s not true, there’s nothing missing from our relationship,’ the person you’re involved with accuses you of being secretly attracted to the person you’re just friends with, which you probably are, let’s face it, who the hell are we kidding, which brings us back to the original rule before the amendment, which is gay men can’t be friends, so where does that leave us?”

“Oliver --”

“Yes, Elio?”

“Goodbye.”

“Okay.” They look at each other and shake hands and then Elio heads off, speeding down the moving sidewalk fast enough to shake off Oliver.


	2. Chapter 2

**1993 - Loeb Boathouse**

Elio is sitting at lunch with his two girlfriends, Marzia and Vimini. Marzia is his age, lamenting about some guy she’s been seeing. Vimini, younger than them both but married with two kids already, listens patiently. Luckily, a waiter comes over, giving them a break from Marzia’s chatter. The girls order first before the waiter turns to Elio.

“I want a Campari and soda, but here’s how I want it. I want the Campari in a glass with ice, and the soda on the side, but in a bottle. I’d like to mix it myself.” The girls don’t bat an eye at the request but Elio catches the waiter rolling his eyes.

“So, I looked through his pockets,” Marzia continues, once they’re alone again. “And you know what I found?”

“What?” Vimini asks, leaning forward a bit.

“They just bought a dining room table. He and his wife just went out and spent $1,600 on a dining room table.” Marzia sighs and her shoulder slump. “He’s never going to leave her.”

“So what else is news?” Vimini asks. “You’ve known that for over two years. Anyway, why can’t you find someone single? When I was single, I knew lots of nice, single men. There must be someone. Elio found someone.”

“Elio got the last good one,” Marzia laments.

“First of all, totally different playing field,” Elio interjects, before this can go any further. He figures it’s now or never and says, quite matter-of-factly. “And besides, Maynard and I broke up.”

“What?” Marzia asks, perking up. “When?”

“Monday.”

“You waited _two days_ to tell us?” Vimini asks, just as Marzia says, “You mean Maynard’s available?”

“For God’s sake, Marzia! Don’t you have any _feelings_? First of all, different playing field,” she says, echoing Elio’s earlier words, “and can’t you see he’s obviously upset --”   
  
“I’m not that upset. We’ve been growing apart for quite a while.”

Marzia’s eyes go wide and she stares at Elio with absolute horror. “But you were a couple. You were together. YOu had someone to go places with. You had a date on national holidays!”

“I just said to myself, you deserve more than this. You’re 31 years old. It’s time to date someone that I can see myself settling down with. I’ve had a few days to get used to it and I really do feel okay.”

“Good,” Marzia says, reaching into her bag. “Then you’re ready.” She plops down her Rolodex onto the table and begins flipping through it.

“Really, Marzia,” Vimini says, leaning back in her chair.

“How else do you think you do it?” Marzia pulls out a card and grins. “I’ve got the perfect guy. And he likes men too.”

“Why don’t you go out with him?” Vimini asks. Elio just sighs and tries to ignore is friends as he mixes his drink.

“I’ve got someone.”

“You’ve got someone someone else already has.”

Marzia rolls her eyes and turns toward Elio, card in hand. “I don’t happen to find him attractive but you might.”

“Marzia, I’m not ready yet.”

“I thought you just said you were over him!”

“I _am_ over him, but I am in a mourning period!” The girls eye him and Elio rolls his eyes. “Who is it?”

“Anderson Jeffries.”

“He’s been married for over a year,” Elio informs. “To a woman from Connecticut. They moved up there in the spring.”

“Really. Married.” Marzia huffs as she dogears the corner and puts the card back into another section at the back of the box. She flips for another few seconds before pulling out another card. “Wait, wait, I got it --”

“Look, I will happily go out with a man I might really like if I met him at the right time. But right now, no one has any chance of being anything to me but a transitional man.”

“Okay. But don’t wait too long. Do you remember Peter Vega? His partner left him, and everyone said, give him some time, don’t move too fast. And six months later, he was _dead_.”

“What are you saying? That I should marry someone right away in case he’s about to die?” Elio is sure Marzia isn’t trying to bring up the AIDS crisis, especially since Peter ended up dying of a heart attack, but the conversation hits a bit close to home. He shifts uncomfortably and looks over his shoulder at the water. He blinks rapidly, trying to hold back the tears at the thought of his lost friends.

“I’m saying the right man for you might be out there right now and if you don’t grab him, someone else will and you’ll have to spend the rest of your life knowing that someone else is with your perfect partner.”

The same afternoon, in Queens, Oliver sits with Nick, his best friend from childhood, who also happens to be bi. It’s something they’ve bonded over, especially as company for one another at various gay bars. They’re decked out in Mets gear and even participate in the wave mid-conversation.

“When did this happen?” Nick asks when they sit back down again.

“Friday. Aviva comes home and says, ‘I don’t know if I want to be married anymore.’ You know, like it’s the institution, like it’s nothing personal, like it’s just something she’s thinking about in a kind of casual way. I’m calm, I say, ‘Why don’t we think about it, don’t rush into anything.’ Next day she says she’s thought about it, she wants a trial separation. She just wants to _try it_ , she says. We can still date, she says, like this is supposed to cushion the blow. I mean, I got married so I could stop dating, so I don’t see how that’s a big incentive since as far as I’m concerned, the last thing you want to do is date your wife, who is supposed to love you, which is what I’m saying to her when it crosses my mind that maybe she doesn’t. So I say, ‘Don’t you love me anymore?’ and you know what she says? She says, ‘I don’t know if I can ever love a man who likes other men.’ As if she didn’t know about that all along.”

The wave comes around again and the guys stand, dutifully waving their hands in the air.

“That’s harsh,” Nick says. “You don’t bounce back from that right away.”

“And then she says, she just found out that somebody at her office is going to South America and she can sublet his apartment. I can’t believe it. And then the doorbell rings. I answer the door and the movers are there. Now I’m starting to get suspicious and I say, ‘When did you call these movers?’ She’s not answering. I look at the movers and say, ‘When did this lady book you for this gig?’ They’re standing there, three huge guys, right, one of them is wearing a shirt that says DON’T FUCK WITH MISTER ZERO, and I ask them again. She says, ‘A week ago,’ and I say, ‘You’ve known this for a whole week and you didn’t’ think to tell me?’ And she says, ‘I didn’t want to ruin your birthday.”

A third wave comes through and Nick cheers as they stand and wave their hands.

“You’re saying Mister Zero knew you were getting a divorce a week before you did?”

“Mister Zero knew. And I haven’t even told you the bad part yet.”

“What could be worse than Mister Zero knowing?”

“It’s all a lie. She’s in love with another guy, some tax attorney. She’s in love with him.”

“How’d you find out?”  
  
Oliver has a bit of decency to look embarrassed as he says, “I followed her and stood outside her building.”

“Oliver, that’s so humiliating.”

“Tell me about it. Standing on the street, the ultimate schmuck.” Oliver slides down in his chair a bit, watching the game from beneath the brim of his cap. “I knew it would happen the whole time. I knew even though we were happy. It was just an illusion and one day she’d kick the shit out of me.”

“Marriages don’t break up on account of infidelity, it’s just a symptom that something else is wrong.”

“Oh, really?” Well, that symptom is fucking my wife.”

The next day, Elio accompanies Marzia to a local bookshop, where they’re browsing a section called Personal Relationships. Marzia’s looking at _Smart Women, Foolish Choices_ and Elio finds himself flipping through _Safe Sex in Dangerous Times_. He has to laugh at how apropos it is.

“So I just happened to see his American Express bill.”

“Just _happened to_?” Elio asks, giving his friend a skeptical look.

“Well, he was shaving, and there it was in his briefcase.”What if he came out and saw you looking through his briefcase?”

“You’re missing the point. I’m telling you what I found. He spent a hundred and twenty bucks on a nightgown for his wife. I don’t think he’s ever going to leave her.”

“ _No one_ thinks he’s ever going to leave her,” Elio says, still looking down at the book.

“Hey,” Marzia says a moment later. “Someone is staring at you in Personal Growth.”

Elio glances over to the Personal Growth section just in time to see Oliver peering around a bookcase. “You’d like him. He’s married.”

“Who is he?”  
  
“Oliver Burns. Teaches at Columbia. He’s bi.”

“He’s cute.”  
  
Elio hums and cocks his head. “Do you really think so?”

“How do you know he’s married?”

“Because the last time I saw him, what? Five, six years ago? He was getting married.”

“So he might not be married anymore.”

“Also he’s obnoxious,” Elio supplies, trying to be a bit haughty. “And he never remembers me.”

Oliver chooses that very moment to approach. “Elio Perlman.”

“Hi, Oliver.”

“I thought that was you!”

“This is Marzia,” Elio begins, spinning to introduce the two. But Marzia is already bounding away. “ _Was_ Marzia.”

“How ya doing?” Oliver asks, peering down at the book still in Elio’s hands.

“Fine.”

“Oh, fine. How’s Maynard?”

“I hear he’s fine. We just broke up.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Yeah, well, you know. Yeah.” Elio takes a stuttering breath and looks out the window for a moment before turning back to Oliver. “What about you? How’s married life?”

“Not so good. I’m getting a divorce.”

“Oh, Oliver,” he whispers, “I’m really sorry. When did this happen?”

“Couple of weeks ago.”

“That’s right when Maynard and I broke up.”

Oliver laughs, albeit a bit humorlessly. “Isn’t that amazing?”

“Everyone in New York breaks up this time of year,” Elio says, trying to brush it off.

“What happened, anyway?”

“She left me. Fell in love with a tax attorney.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorry, Oliver.”

“Yeah...well, what are you gonna do? What happened with you guys?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Well come on,” Oliver says, clapping Elio’s shoulder. “I know a place.”

They end up at a small coffee shop around the corner, each cradling a latte. It’s cool, but they’re still able to sit outside and enjoy the crisp autumn air. Elio burrows a bit further into his scarf as he plows on about him and Maynard.

“When Maynard and I started seeing each other, we wanted exactly the same thing. We wanted to live together, but avoid the whole domestic partnership in San Francisco thing. Because every time we knew someone who did it, or a straight couple that got married, it ruined their relationship. They practically never had sex again. I’d sit around with my girlfriends who have kids -- well, actually, just my friend Vimini who has two kids -- and she would complain about how she and her husband never did it anymore. Up all night, exhausted all the time. Maynard and I used to talk about it all the time and say we’re so lucky, we have this wonderful relationship, we can have sex on the kitchen floor, fly off to Rome at a moment’s notice. And then one day I was taking Vimini’s little girl for ice cream and we were playing I Spy. She pointed to two men sitting near us, both with rings on, and said, ‘I spy a family.’ And I just started to cry. So I went home and said, here’s the thing Maynard, we never do fly off to Rome at a moment’s notice.”

“What about the kitchen floor?”

“Not once,” Elio says with a little laugh. “It’s this very cold and hard ceramic tile. We talked about it for a long time and I said I want someone long-term, I want kids if that’s ever possible, I want stability. He said he didn’t want that and he left. And the truth is, I feel really fine. I’m over him. Really. That was it for him, that was the most he could give. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced I did the right thing.”

After coffee, and much lamenting about their exes, they walk toward the subway together. The sun is dipping close to the horizon and Elio shivers.

“At least I got the apartment,” he says.

“Everyone says that to me, too,” Oliver laughs. “But what’s so hard about getting an apartment? You read the obituaries, you find out who died, you go see the doorman. They should put the two sections together, real estate and obituaries -- Mr. Klien died today leaving a wife, two children, and a spacious three-bedroom with a wood-burning fireplace.” That makes Elio laugh, which makes Oliver laugh, and they stumble against each other as they make their way down the sidewalk. “When we first met,” Oliver says, a bit hesitantly, “I didn’t like you that much.”

“ _I_ didn’t like _you_ ,” Elio retorts, with a huge grin.

“You did, too. You were just so uptight. Now you’re much softer.”

Elio rolls his eyes and sort of shoves Oliver. “I hate that kind of remark. It seems like a compliment but it’s really an insult. I just didn’t want to sleep with you, so you had to write it off as a character flaw instead of dealing with the possibility that it might have something to do with _you_.”

“What’s the statute of limitations on apologies?”

“Hmm...ten years.”

“Ooh, I can make it.”

“Hey,” Elio says, smiling. “Would you like to have dinner sometime?”

“Are we becoming friends?”

“Well, I guess we could,” Elio says, mulling it over.

“A gay friend. This is amazing. You may be the first attractive man I have not wanted to sleep with in my entire life.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you are all enjoying this so far!! xx

Oliver sits at his desk in his apartment, staring blankly out the window, effectively turning his back on the pile of papers that need grading. It’s grey and cold outside, evening fast approaching. His stomach growls but he ignores it, feeling too despondent to even boil water for pasta. The phone rings and he startles, nearly knocking his potted plant off the desk as he spins around to answer.

“Hello,” Elio’s voice comes from over the receiver. It’s scratchy and low and Oliver smiles.

“You sleeping?”  
  
“No, I was watching _Casablanca_. Channel eleven”

“Got it.” He picks up the phone, bringing it over to the couch with him as he flips on the TV. “Now you’re telling me you’d be happier with Victor Lazlo than with Humphrey Bogart?”

“When did I say that?” Elio asks, voice close and warm against Oliver’s ear.

“When we drove to New York.”

“I never said that, I’d never have said that. How’ve you been sleeping?” Elio asks, swiftly changing the subject.

“Not great, maybe I’m coming down with something.”

“Oliver, maybe you should see a --”

“Last night I was up at four in the morning watching _Leave It To Beaver_ in Spanish. Buenos dias, Senora Cleaver. Donde esta Wallace y Theodore? I am not well.”

“Well, as long as it’s not --”

“It’s not.”

“Good. I went to bed at 7:30 last night. I haven’t done that since the third grade.”

“That’s the good thing about depression,” Oliver offers, as some sort of consolation for both of them. “You get your rest.”

“I’m not depressed.”

“Oooh,” Oliver says, perking up a bit as he changes the channel. “Put on 23. It’s the nude talk show.”

“How can you watch that?” Elio asks, totally exasperated. It’s not the first time they’ve had this conversation.

“What? You don’t find it interesting watching naked people discuss insider trading?” They’re quiet, each watching their respective channels, until Oliver speaks again. “Do you still sleep on the same side of the bed?”

“I did for a while, but now I’m pretty much using the whole bed.”

“God, that’s great. I feel weird when just my leg wanders over. I miss her.”

“I don’t miss him,” Elio says steadfastly. “I really don’t.”

“Not even a little?”

“Hmm…” Elio shifts and thinks for a moment. “You know what I miss? The idea of him.”

“Maybe I only miss the idea of Aviva,” Oliver says, sounding a bit hopeful. “No,” he says after a moment, flipping back to _Casablanca_ , “I miss the whole Aviva.”

“I found this book that gives you some really good tips on how to enjoy being alone. Like never eat standing up. Make a nice meal for yourself and sit at a table.”

“Sounds good. As soon as I get a table that’s exactly what I’ll do.” They are quiet as they watch the last scene of the movie. “Ingrid Bergman. Now _she’s_ low maintenance.”

“Low maintenance?”

“Yeah. There are two kinds of people: high maintenance and low maintenance.”

“And Ingrid Bergman is low maintenance?” At Oliver’s hum of agreement, Elio asks, “Which one am I?”

“The worst one. You’re high maintenance, but you think you’re low maintenance.”

“I don’t see that.”

“You don’t?” Oliver asks, laughing. “‘I’ll start with the house salad, but don’t put the regular dressing on it, I’ll have the balsamic vinegar and oil, but on the side, and then the salmon with the mustard sauce, but on the side.’ On the side is like, a very big thing with you.”

“Well, I just want it the way I want it.”

“Right. High maintenance.”

On screen, Bogart says, “Louie, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” Elio smiles. He and Oliver have been friends for a few weeks now: frequenting coffee and bookshops, going out to dinner, seeing movies together, even strolling through the part or just running errands. It’s actually a really nice changeup from hanging out with Marzia and Vimini or some of the guys he knows from volunteering. And it sure beats hanging out with his friends from work who still party like they’re 20.

“Best last line of a movie, ever,” Oliver says, and Elio can hear the emotion in Oliver’s voice. Elio is about to call Oliver out when he says, “I’m definitely coming down with something. Probably a 24-hour tumor. They’re going around.”

“Don’t joke, Oliver,” Elio says quietly. He wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his pajamas. “We’ve lost so many already.” They both sigh. “If you’re so worried, go see a doctor. Are you going to be able to sleep?”

“If not, I’ll be okay. I’ll stay up and moan. Wait, let me practice now.” Oliver sucks in a deep breath before he begins moaning.

“Goodnight, Oliver.”

“Goodnight, Elio.”

Elio hangs up the receiver to Oliver’s moaning.

A few days later, Elio and Oliver decide to meet up for a coffee and a walk through the park. It’s crisp, now mid-November, and Elio shows up bundled in a black beret and matching scarf. Oliver teases him about it, tugging on the scarf and mocking him in a terrible French accent. Elio just shoves him off and strides toward the path leading into Central Park. Oliver catches up to him, coffee in hand, and even looks a little sheepish as Elio starts eating his croissant as they walk. But they fall into their usual banter, eventually talking about sex dreams.

“I dreamed I was making love, and the Olympic judges were watching as usual. But this was it, the finals. I get a 9.8 from the Canadian, a perfect 10 from the American, and my mother, dressed as an East German, gives me a 5.6. Do you think there’s any meaning to that?”

They discuss the possible symbolism before Oliver finally asks about Elio’s sex dreams. By this point, Elio has thrown in some not so subtle hints about being hungry _again_ , so Oliver caves and buys a hot pretzel for them to share.

“Basically it’s the same one I’ve had since I was twelve,” Elio says, mouth full of pretzel. He’s definitely taken more than half but Oliver doesn’t say anything.

“What happens?”

“It’s very embarrassing.”

“Don’t tell me.”

“Okay, there’s this guy.”

“What does he look like?”

“I don’t know. He’s sort of faceless.”

“A faceless guy. Okay. Then what happens?”

“He rips off my clothes.”  
  
“And then what?”

“That's it.”

“That’s it?” Oliver asks, incredulous. “A faceless guy rips off your clothes. And that’s the sex fantasy you’ve been having since you were twelve? Exactly the same?”

“Sometimes I vary it a little.”

“What do you vary?”

“What I’m wearing.”

Oliver shakes his head and laughs. “Jesus, you’re developed enough to have gay sex dreams at twelve and that’s what you came up with.”

“You weren’t having dreams about men at twelve?” Elio asks with disbelief. He’s not totally convinced that Oliver Burns hasn’t been having disgustingly lewd dreams about men (and women) his entire life.

“I didn’t realize I was attracted to men until I was 17,” Oliver admits. “I could never really make friends with guys, I just thought something was wrong with me. But then I realized I couldn’t be friends with them because I actually thought they were attractive.”

“What made you realize?”

“Another guy in my history class,” Oliver says. Elio waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t, so Elio just lets it go. They end up at the Met, the cold finally getting to Elio enough that, to mitigate Elio’s complaining, Oliver steers them in the direction of the museum. As they walk through the Temple of Dendur, Oliver spins on his heels, looking down at Elio with a shit-eating grin.

“I’ve decided for the rest of the day we’re going to talk like this,” he says in a nasally voice, hitting each of his consonants hard.

“Like this?” Elio tries to imitate, but can’t quite get it.

“Repeat after me. May I have some pepper.”

“May...I have...some pepper.”

“Pepper,” Oliver says, and they toss the word back and forth until it seems Elio has it right. “Waiter, may I have some pepper on my paprikash.” They fool around a bit, Elio imitating and repeating everything Oliver says. “Do you want to go to a movie tonight?” Oliver asks in his funny voice.

So Elio shoots back, “Do you want to go to a movie tonight?”

“No,” Oliver says, still putting on the act, “answer the question. Do you want to go to a movie tonight?”

“I’d love to, Oliver,” Elio says, breaking character and going back to his usual voice, “but I can’t.”

“What do you have?” Oliver asks, still nasally and dissonant. “A hot date?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” A pang of guilt runs through Elio, especially at the crestfallen look he catches on Oliver’s face.

“Really?” He’s dropped the voice now.

“I was going to tell you, but… I don’t know I felt strange about it…”

“Hey, it’s fine with me. We’re friends. I think it’s great you have a date.”

“You sure?”

“Sure.” But then Oliver leans in and plucks at the top of Elio’s beret. “But is this what you’re wearing?”

“Well, I don’t know. Why?”

“I think you should wear pink. It looks good on you.”

“It does?”

“Yeah.”

“You know, Oliver,” Elio says softly, trying to keep his voice gentle, “you should get out there, too.”

“No, no,” I’m not ready,” Oliver says, putting his funny voice on again.

“It’s time,” Elio says, wishing they could just have a serious conversation for once.

“No, I can’t, I can’t.”

“You should.”

There’s a pause and Oliver turns, walking toward the temple and away from Elio. He says, still in character, “Maybe I will.”

A week later, they’re unrolling a new rug in Oliver’s apartment. It’s sunny out, light streaming in through the big windows behind them. Elio is wearing his favorite pink shirt, a button-down with white stripes. He took a bit of time primping in front of the mirror that morning, and then spent the entire ride to Oliver’s place berating himself for being so foolish. But Oliver said he looked good when he answered the door, so Elio counts that as a small win. A win for what, he’s not sure, but a win nonetheless.

“It was the most uncomfortable night of my life,” Oliver says as they rearrange the rug to their liking.

“The first date back is always the toughest.”

“You only had one date. How do you know it won’t get worse?”  
  
“How much worse can it get than finishing dinner, having him reach over, pull a hair out of my head, and start flossing with it at the table.”

“You’re talking dream date compared to my horror. It started out fine, he was a very nice person, and we were just talking at this Ethiopian restaurant he wanted to go to. I was making some jokes and I got nothing. Not even a smile. So I downshift into small talk and ask him where he went to school. He said Michigan State and it reminds me Aviva, and all of a sudden I’m in the middle of this massive anxiety attack, and my heart’s beating like wild and I’m sweating like a pig.”

“Aviva went to Michigan State?”

“No. She went to Northwestern But they’re both Big Ten Schools.” They grab Oliver’s coffee table, moving it back on top of the now properly placed rug. Once the table is in place, Oliver stands there, hands on his hips. The place is really starting to come together, mostly with Elio’s help. He wasn’t planning on getting any furniture after Aviva moved, deciding to just survive with a bed, desk, and a TV, but Elio insisted he do something about the emptiness. Now there’s even a picture hanging on the wall. “I was so upset, I had to leave the restaurant.”

“I think it takes a long time, Oliver. It might be months before we’re actually able to enjoy going out with someone new. And maybe even longer before we’ll be able to go to bed with someone new.”

“Well, I did go to bed with him.”

Elio frowns, trying to not let disappointment seep into his voice as he looks down at the rug. “So, should we move the couch?”

That weekend, Oliver ends up meeting with Nick at the batting cage. They chat about Nick’s dating woes before pivoting to Oliver’s, which he really doesn’t want to get into right now. But then, somehow, they end up talking about Elio.

“I don’t understand this relationship.”

 _Whack._ Oliver hits a ball and watches it fly. “What do you mean?”

“You enjoy being with him?”

 _Thud._ “Yes.”

“You find him attractive?”

 _Crack._ “Yes.”

“And you’re not sleeping with him?”

 _Whoosh._ A miss. “No.”

“What are you afraid of? Letting yourself be happy?”

“C’mon, man, why can’t you give me credit for this? This is a big step for me, Nick, having a relationship that doesn’t involve sex,”

“You don’t have sex with _me_ ,” Nick says.

“Yeah, but it’s different, we’re like brothers. I’ve never been able to do this. I feel like I’m growing. It’s very freeing; I feel like I can say anything to him.”

“Are you saying you can say things to him you can’t say to me?”

“No, it’s just different. We talk about anything: movies, music, books, the people we date.”

“You tell him about other men?”

“Yeah, like the other night, I slept with a guy and it was so incredible, I took him to a place that wasn’t human. He actually meowed.”

“You made a guy meow?”

“Yes. That’s the point. I can say these things to him and I don’t have to lie because I’m not always thinking about how to get him into bed. I can just be myself.”

 _Whack. Thud. Crack._ “You made a guy meow?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A different version of both Katz's Deli and the peach scene -- enjoy ;)

Elio and Oliver meet up the day after both of them have particularly bad dates. Oliver went out with a woman who didn’t know who Socrates was (a huge turnoff for Oliver) and Elio went out with a guy who wanted to fuck to disco music (not Elio’s cup of tea). They end up at the Union Square Farmer’s Market, open year-round even though it’s chilly out. Oliver is whining for the umpteenth time about the lack of good dates.

“So when you’re done,” Elio says, breaking up Oliver’s latest diatribe. “What do you do? You just get out of bed and leave?”

“Sure.”

“Explain to me how you do it. What do you say?”

“I have an early meeting or an early haircut or an early squash game.”

Elio gives him a skeptical look. “You don’t play squash.”

“They don’t know that. They just met me.”

“Ugh. That’s disgusting.”

“I know, I feel terrible,” Oliver says, clearly not remorseful in the least.

“I am so glad I never got involved with you. I just would have ended up being some guy you had to get out of bed and leave at three in the morning and go clean your andirons. And you don’t even have a fireplace.” Elio huffs and rolls his eyes. _Fucking Oliver._ “Not that I would know this.”

“Why are you getting so upset? This isn’t about you.”

“Yes, it is! It’s a human affront, and I’m a human!”

“Look, I don’t feel great about this, but I don’t hear anyone complaining.”

“Of course not. You’re out the door too fast.”

They’re quiet again as they continue browsing the selection. It’s late November, just a few days before Thanksgiving, so most of the selections are of the squash and winter fruit varieties. They peruse the stalls in silence, Oliver standing a few feet back as Elio purchases some flowers for his apartment.

“You’re pretty vanilla, aren’t you?” Oliver asks when they start walking again.

Elio nearly chokes on air. “Excuse me?”

“In bed. You aren’t very adventurous.”

“What makes you say that? How would you know?”

“I just do.”

Elio pouts and shoves his hands into his pocket, clenching them into fists to keep himself from hitting Oliver. “I’m not vanilla,” he insists. “I’ve done pretty much _everything_.”

“Everything, huh?” Oliver says, looking over at Elio with a smirk. “Like what?”

“Like...Like being tied to the bed.”

“Child’s play,” Oliver says easily. “I have a whole box of ropes in my closet.”

“Felching,” Elio says, not missing a look from an elderly lady who quickly rushes past them.

“Ooh, but have you tried _snowballing_?”

“What’s -”

“They feed your cum back to you.”

Elio glares at Oliver. “Well, I didn’t know there was a _word_ for it.”

“Golden showers?”

Elio wrinkles his nose. “Did it. Didn’t like it. Fisting?”

“Did it,” Oliver says, laughing. “Didn’t like it.”

Elio spots a guy eating a hot dog and he nods toward it. “I’m a pro at deepthroating.” Oliver splutters, but before he can answer, Elio spots a stand with a crate of peaches. They don’t look as beautiful as the ones in Italy, especially considering it’s _November_ , and where did they even ship those in from anyway? He practically skips over to the stand and purchases the most perfect peach he can find. After handing his dollar over, he spins on his heel to find Oliver standing right behind him, still looking a bit dumbfounded.

“Elio, what are you --”

But Elio doesn’t answer, just looks down at the peach as he caresses the stem. He glances up at Oliver, just to make sure he’s watching, before pressing his fingers into the ripe fruit. It makes an obscene squishing sound and juice begins to run down Elio’s hand.

“Ever done this before?” he asks, quirking a brow. He brings the fruit to his lips, sucking at the sweet juice and taking a small nibble of the flesh before plunging his fingers back in to pull out the pit. Once the pit is successfully discarded, Elio pushes his finger back into the abused hole, letting out a quiet moan as he does so.

“Are you...alright?”

“Oh, God...oh, God. Yes, great, yes, I’m coming. Oh - Yes, yes, yes! God, baby. Ohmygod. Oh my - Baby, yes. Yes, yes!” Elio’s head is thrown back and he’s moaning as he fingers the peach, the squelch of the fruit perfectly timed with his crescendo. “YES!” Elio cries out, feigning orgasm. He finally pulls his fingers out of the peach and brings the fruit to his mouth and takes a big bite, smiling innocently around his mouthful.

Oliver is clearly in shock, watching Elio with his mouth practically on the pavement. There’s a crowd around them, passersby unable to help but overhear Elio’s performance.

“I’ll take the rest,” an older man says behind Elio, thrusting a wad of twenties toward the teenager running the stand in return for the crate of peaches.

Thanksgiving comes and goes and Elio can’t quite believe it when he’s standing on the sidewalk with Oliver trying to pick out a Christmas tree. It’s the second week of December and it’s already blustery and freezing, so Elio has about 300 layers on and has his scarf wrapped all around his face to try and block out the cold. Elio is Jewish...well, Oliver is too, but here they are, standing on the sidewalk arguing about a tree for Elio’s apartment.

“Yeah, but this one has a bunch of needles missing from the bottom,” he says, gesturing toward the lacking tree with his mittened hand.

“Who cares! Throw some ornaments and lights on it and no one will even notice.”

Elio simply moves onto the next tree, surveying it with a critical eye. “Too skinny and too tall. It won’t fit where I want to put it.” They go through another five trees before Elio finally finds the _perfect_ one. Oliver grabs the bottom, doing most of the heavy lifting as they carry the tree back to Elio’s apartment to trim it together.

The next day, Vimini is over with her daughter and they’re baking holiday cookies together.

“His name was Newman. Don’t even bother committing it to memory.”

“I love hearing about horrible dates. What happened?”

“Ugh.” Elio rolls his eyes as he carefully outlines a cookie in royal icing. “He collects air. He has mason jars all over his apartment, labeled the commemorate important dates, like the day the Mets won the World Series.”

“And these are events he went to?”

“No,” Elio says with a snort. “Whenever something important happens, he just goes outside, opens the mason jar, scoops up some air, caps, and labels it.” He leans over to grab a cellophane bag, stuffing it with finished cookies and tying it with a bow. He can’t help the small smile that flits across his face as his new Star of David necklace settles back on his neck. He begins writing Oliver’s name on the bag but then feels Vimini’s small fingers fiddling with the charm.

“What’s this?”

“Oliver gave it to me yesterday. After we decorated my tree. He has one just like it and I complimented him on it. He -”

“I don’t see why you don’t get involved with Oliver,” Vimini says, obviously trying to tread carefully.

“Because we’re just friends. He’s…”

“He’s what?”

“He’s a mess,” Elio says with a shrug.

“Then why are you making cookies for him. And hanging out with him all the time.”

“He’s a nice mess,” Elio defends, still smiling.

New Year’s Eve is finally upon them and Elio ends up going to a party that one of Oliver’s friends was throwing. The invite came in sort of last minute, but Elio didn’t have plans and would much rather spend the night with Oliver than home alone. When Oliver came to pick Elio up, dressed in a plain yet perfect black tux, Elio knew he’d made the right decision. He threw on his coat, after an appraising look from Oliver and many compliments on his suit. It’s down in the Village, a huge loft-type place. It’s teeming with people decked in all sorts of outfits and hats and everyone is clutching either a bottle or a glass of champagne. There’s even a live band and Oliver drags Elio out onto the dance floor. Oliver dips him, and Elio comes up giggling.

“I really want to thank you for taking me out tonight, Oliver.”

“Forget it. And next year, if neither of us is with somebody, you’ve got a date.”

“It’s a date.” Elio looks up at Oliver from under his lashes and his breath stutters. Oliver is looking back at him with a hint of _something_ in his gaze. He’s pretty sure he even sees Oliver’s eyes flick down to his lips. Elio feels like he can’t breathe. He’s about to do _something_ , he’s not sure what.

But then Oliver says, “Do you want to get some air?”

“If you do.” Elio has to force himself to take a few breaths to calm himself as they step out onto the balcony. The place is fucking _huge_ but Elio can’t even take in the full majesty. Not when Oliver was looking at him like _that_.

“Do you think the fact that we’re friends is keeping us from finding someone?”

“Yes. So I think we should stop being friends, go home right now, and make love.”

“You don’t mean that,” Elio says, laughing. A countdown has begun. Oliver doesn’t answer. They just stare at each other as they approach the new year.

_10 - 9 - 8 - 7 - 6 - 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 -1 Happy New Year!_

Every couple around them is immediately wrapped up in one another, kissing and hugging and laughing. Elio and Oliver lean in at the same time, sharing a soft kiss. It makes Elio’s heart clench. The kiss was awkward, platonic. _Should it have been more?_

“Happy New Year,” Elio says warmly.

“Happy New Year.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, I know, but next chapter will come tomorrow!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters after this one -- here we go!!

Elio and Marzia walk briskly down the street, mainly to get to the restaurant faster. It’s fucking freezing and Marzia is just babbling away.

“You sent flowers to yourself?” Elio asks, trying to move the conversation along.

“Sixty dollars of flowers. This big, stupid arrangement, and I wrote a card that said, ‘Please say yes. Love, Jonathan.’ I left it on the front table where Arthur would just happen to see it.”

“And did it work?”

“He didn’t even come over. He forgot some charity thing his wife was chairman of. He’s never going to leave her.”

“Of course he isn’t.” Marzia sighs and loops her arm into Elio’s pulling him closer as they walk. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Look, Oliver is one of my best friends, and you are one of my best friends, and if by some chance you two hit it off, we could all still be friends instead of drifting apart.”

Oliver and Nick walk toward the restaurant from the other direction, the two of them ducking their heads against the cold.

“I hate myself for letting you talk me into this. You know I’ve finally gotten to a place in my life where I’m comfortable with the fact that it’s just me and my work. If he’s so great, why aren’t _you_ taking him out?”

“How many times do I have to tell you? We’re just friends.”

“So you’re saying he’s not that attractive.”

“No, I told you he’s attractive.”

“But you also said he has a good personality.”

“He _does_.”

Nick waves his arms and splutters for a second. “When someone’s not attractive, they’re _always_ described as having a good personality.”

Oliver huffs, fed up with Nick’s antics already. How is he going to survive a whole dinner? “Look. Just because I happen to mention he has a good personality, he could be either attractive _or_ unattractive. And he’s attractive.”

They arrive at the same time Elio and Marzia do and it’s silent and awkward as they sit at the table and start reading over the menus.

“So...where are you from?” Oliver asks Marzia.

“France.”

“I’ve never been to France.”

“It’s nice,” Marcia says, nodding. All four of them look at one another and then look down at their menus. He can’t believe he’s stuck here, trying to get together with this Marzia chick.

“What’s everyone gonna get?” Oliver asks.

“I think I’ll start with the grilled radicchio,” Elio says, still thoughtfully pouring over his menu.

“Nick, Elio is a great orderer. He always orders in such a way that it comes out in a way the chef had no idea how good it could be.”

Elio glares at Oliver over the top of his menu. _Fucking Oliver_ , probably ruining his chance at a second date with Nick. But...Nick is a little dull for him, anyway.

“I think restaurants have become too important,” Nick says with a bit of a lofty air. Elio is just about to roll his eyes when Marzia chimes in.

“I agree. ‘Restaurants are to people in the ‘80s what theatre was to people in the ‘60s.’ I read that in a magazine.”

There’s a pause and then Nick laughs. “I wrote it.” At Marzia’s look of disbelief, Nick nods. “I did!”

“I’ve never quoted anything from a magazine in my life. That’s amazing!” Marzia smacks Elio’s arm. “Don’t you think that’s amazing? And you wrote it!”

“I also wrote, ‘Pesto is the quiche of the ‘80s.’”

“Really? I read that in my in-flight magazine!”

Nick laughs and shakes his head. “Nobody’s ever quoted me back to me.”

Oliver glances over at Elio and quirks a brow. Seems their dates have been swapped, leaving Elio and Oliver sitting at the table together, as always.

After dinner, the four of them start walking down the sidewalk together, when Marzia pulls on Elio’s sleeve, pulling him out of the line of four. “Come look at these shoes!” Marzia cries; it’s clearly a ruse.

“So, do you like him?” Elio asks.

“Oliver? Yeah, he’s nice. But...how do you feel about Nick?”

“He’s okay…”

“Do you think you’d go out with him? Because I feel very comfortable with him.”

“You want to go out with Nick?” Elio asks, just for clarification. It’s fine, of course. Not like he had any interest in Nick. _But Oliver..._

“Would it be okay with you?”

“Sure, sure. I’m just worried about Oliver. He’s very sensitive. He’s going through a rough period, so don’t like...reject him right now, you know?”

Marzia nods solemnly. “Oh no, I wouldn’t. I understand.

Meanwhile, Oliver and Nick are in an identical conversation just a few feet away in front of a running store.

“If you don’t think you’re going to call Marzia, do you mind if I do?”

“Well, no. But for tonight you shouldn’t.” _Elio…_ “Elio is really vulnerable. I mean, you can call Marzia, it’s fine in like a week. But don’t make any moves tonight.”

“No problem,” Nick says easily. “I wasn’t thinking about tonight, anyway.”

Elio and Marzia rejoin them and before they can strike up a conversation again, Nick says, “I don’t feel like walking anymore, I think I’ll get a cab.”

“I’ll go with you,” Marzia says immediately.

“Great.”

They practically leap into the street and Nick hails a cab without hesitation. They clamber in, the cab not pulling away fast enough before both Elio and Oliver see them making out in the backseat.

“So. Häagen-Dazs at my place?” Elio offers.

It’s only two months later that they’re shopping for an engagement gift for Marzia and Nick at the Sharper Image. They’ve really hit it off and, of course, Elio and Oliver couldn’t be happier for their friends. Elio sighs as he picks up a helmet with a fan attached. “We’re never going to find anything here.”

“Hey! This is the perfect thing!" Oliver says from across the store. “Come here!” Elio comes over to find Oliver fiddling with a karaoke machine. He sticks in a cassette and a modified version of “Love My Way” starts playing over the speakers. Oliver dances to the intro before singing

 _There’s an army on the dance floor  
_ _It’s fashion with a gun my love  
_ _In a room without a door  
_ _A kiss is not enough in  
_ _Love my way, it’s a new road  
_ _I follow where my mind goes_

He’s obviously carried away, dancing and singing. Elio joins in, getting more and more idiotic. Suddenly, Oliver spins around and stops singing. Elio continues for a moment and then notices something’s wrong. The music continues playing even though they’ve stopped singing.

“What’s the matter? It’s my voice, isn’t it?” Elio asks. “I have a terrible voice, I know. Everyone hates it."

“It’s Aviva.”

“What?”

“It’s Aviva,” Oliver says again, a bit sharper. “She’s right there. Coming right at me.”

And suddenly, there’s a very chic woman standing right in front of them on the arm of a tall, handsome man.

“How are you, Oliver?” she asks, all the sympathy of a Hallmark card in her voice.

“Fine.”

“This is Ira. Ira, Oliver Burns.” They shake hands and Elio cringes at how awkward it is.

“Right. Aviva, this is Elio. Elio, this is Aviva. And Ira.”

“Nice to meet you,” Elio says with a curt nod. Aviva and Ira move on, right out of the store, but Oliver looks like he’s about to faint. “You okay?”

“I’m perfect.” He shakes his head. “Did she look weird? She looked very weird.”

“I’ve never seen her before.”

“Trust me, she looked _very_ weird.”

They end up getting a houseplant at a shop near Marzia and Nick’s new apartment. Oliver has been silent since they left the Sharper Image. He’s just staring blankly into space and Elio nudges him as they walk. “Hey, you okay?”

“I’m fine. It had to happen at some point. In a city of eight million people, you’re bound to run into your former wife. It happened, and now I’m fine.”

They make it to Marzia and Nick’s apartment without Oliver having a total breakdown, which Elio counts as a win even if he’s oddly silent. The apartment is nice, even if they’re still just moving in. But the place is crowded with double the amount of furniture, which Elio figures makes sense considering they’ve moved two people’s belongings into one apartment. The couple is in baggy shirts and jeans, but Marzia looks radiant, and Elio really is happy for her. He _oohs_ and _aahs_ as they’re given the grand tour, but Oliver is still distracted.

“I just hate _this_ ,” Marzia says, gesturing at a pretty heinous end table. It looks like it’s straight out of Marie Antoinette’s palace, all curved wood, and gold-leaf swirls.

“It works for me,” Nick says. “It feels like home.”

“Okay,” Marzia contends, “we’ll have Elio and Oliver decide.”

“It’s nice,” Oliver says blandly.

Nick whoops triumphantly. “Case closed.”

“Ugh, no! It’s so awful that there’s no way to even begin to explain --”

“I don’t object to any of _your_ things.”

The couple gets into a bit of a squabble, arguing about barstools and paintings and couches.

“Oliver?” Nick asks. “I need you on my side here.”

Oliver laughs mirthlessly and spins on his heel to look at Marzia and Nick. “You start out like this. Blank walls. You begin filling it up. Then what happens? Six years later, you wind up singing ‘Love My Way’ in front of Ira.”

“Oliver, maybe we should talk about this right now,” Elio tries, glancing warily between Oliver and their friends.

“What’s wrong with right now? It’s a perfect time! I just want them to see the realities of what this leads to. Everything’s fine, everybody’s in love. But before you know it, you’re screaming at each other about who owns the stereo. Someday you’ll be fighting over a fucking dish. I mean it. Put your name on everything now so you don’t forget. Because someday, believe it or not, you’re going to be fighting over who is going to get this stupid, heinous end table.”

“I thought you liked it,” Nick says weakly.  
  
“I was being nice!” Oliver storms out and slams the door behind him.

“He just ran into Aviva,” Elio says by way of explanation as he rushes after Oliver, who is thankfully just sitting on the stoop. “Oliver, you have to find a way of not expressing every feeling you have every moment you have them. There are times and places for things.”

“How come nothing bothers you? You never get upset about anything?”  
  
Elio scoffs and looks off to the side. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“What? You never get upset about Maynard. I never see it back up on you. How is that possible? Don’t you experience any feelings of loss?”

“I’ve experienced my loss. I’ve had my mourning period. Now I’m done with it.”

“What was your mourning period? Spending an hour at a club?”

“I don’t need this from you,” Elio says, turning back toward the building.

“If you’re so over Maynard, why haven’t you been seeing anyone?”

“I see people!” Elio changes his mind and storms down the stairs to the sidewalk, but Oliver follows.

“See people? Have you even slept with _one_ person since Maynard?”

“What the hell does that have to do with anything? That will prove I’m over Maynard, because I fuck someone? Oliver, you’re going to have to move back to New Hampshire because you’ve fucked everyone in New York. Besides, I’ll make love to someone when it’s making love, not the way you do it. Like you’re out for revenge.”

“Are you finished now?” Oliver asks.

Elio visibly deflates and nods his head. “Yes.”

They nod at one another and head back inside to help Marzia and Nick.

The next time they’re at Marzia and Nick’s, it’s fully furnished. The shelves are lined with books and records. There are cozy quilts draped over the couch and photos dotting the mantle and tables. They’re playing Pictionary, a sort of awkward triple date. Emily, Oliver’s date, is snuggled up against him. Julian, Elio’s date, sits on an armchair as Elio frantically draws on a large pad of paper. His artistic skills must be lacking because he’s drawing what’s _clearly_ a baby.

“It’s a monkey!” Nick says. “Monkey, see, monkey do!” When Elio shakes his head, Nick tries again. “A baby!”  
  
Elio nods and then draws a huge pair of lips.

“Planet of the Apes!” Nick guesses.

“Planet of the Apes?” Oliver asks, gaping. “He already said it’s a baby. How about planet of the dopes.”

Elio then draws arrows coming out of the mouth and Oliver and Nick start shouting things out in tandem.

“Big mouth!”

“Baby mouth.”

“Big baby.”

“Baby burp. Splittle. Spit.”

“Baby ape.”

“Will you forget about the ape?”

“Baby fish. Baby fish mouth!”

“That’s it!” Julian cries. “Out of time!”

Elio groans and gestures at his drawing. “It’s _baby talk_!”

“Baby talk? That’s not a saying,” Nick says, clearly angling for a do-over.

“Oh, like baby fish mouth. That’s a saying.”

“Final score,” Emily interrupts. “Our team 110, you guys 60.”

“Alright, who wants coffee?” Marzia asks, in full hostess mode.

Elio hops up to help, dutifully following his friend into the kitchen as Oliver and Nick continue to discuss Elio’s drawing. Just as he turns into the kitchen, Elio sees Emily kissing Oliver’s cheek just before he stands up to follow Nick into the study.

“Emily’s a little young for Oliver, don’t you think?” Elio asks quietly as he and Marzia begin taking out the cups and saucers.

“She’s young but she’s accomplished.”

“She makes beautiful desserts.”

“So what?” Elio asks as he takes a chocolate pie out of a box, setting it on Marzia’s new glass cake stand.

“It’s not just desserts. She makes over 3,000 chocolate pies _per week_.”

“Wait…” Elio looks down at the box, printed with a quaint scene of a plump old woman in a kitchen. “Emily is _Aunt_ Emily? Oliver doesn’t even like sweets.”

“So...Julian’s great,” Marzia says, clearly trying to change the topic.  
  
“I know.” Elio goes all giddy and smiley. He sways on the spot a little. “He’s a real grownup. I’ve never been with a grownup.”

In Nick’s study, the guys are looking over Nick’s latest story in the New Yorker. It’s all a ploy, of course, to talk about the other guests, and Oliver can’t help but ask, “Does Julian seem a little stuffy to you?”

“He’s a good guy. You should talk to him, get to know him.”

“He’s too tall to talk to.”

“So are you, asshole. We all went to a Mets game with him last week, it was fun.”

“Really? But Elio hates baseball.”

“Hey, so Emily seems terrific.”

“Yeah, she is. But when I asked her where she was when Kennedy was shot she said, ‘Ted Kennedy was shot?’”

Two nights later, Oliver is in bed, reading the new John Grisham novel. He’s trying hard not to look at the last page, stopping himself multiple times from just skipping to the end. He’s trying something new, trying to be more optimistic. He’s trying to be like Elio. But, Oliver can’t help it. Just as he flips to the last page, the phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Are you alone?” It’s Elio and he sounds a bit far away. Oliver presses the phone harder to his ear.

“Yeah, I was just finishing a book.”

“Could you come over?”

And now he finally registers that Elio sounds like he’s been crying. He perks up and discards the book. “What’s the matter?”

“He’s sick.”

“Julian?” A wave of panic courses through Oliver. If Julian has it, then…

“No. Maynard. He has AIDS.”

Oliver says some reassuring words over the line as he gets dressed, only hanging up once he’s promised Elio for the fourth time that he’s on his way. Oliver rushes over, practically sprinting the entire way. As soon as he rings the bell, Elio whips the door open. He looks terrible: dressed in sweats, clutching an empty tissue box, tear-streaked cheeks, and a red nose. He starts crying as soon as his eyes land on Oliver.

“Come on in.” As soon as he’s inside, Oliver is wrapping Elio in a tight hug. “I’m sorry to call you so late.”

“It’s okay,” he says quietly, just holding Elio through his sobbing.

“I need another box of tissues,” Elio finally says, pulling back and taking a huge, shaky breath. He turns around and heads further into his apartment, Oliver following close behind. “He just called me. Wanted to see how I was, how I was feeling. I said I was fine but he pressed it, asked if I had gotten tested recently. That seemed like a red flag. Of course, I just got tested and I’m fine but…” That’s when a fresh wave of tears hits and he sits on the bed with a fresh tissue box. “But he’s not.”

Oliver sits next to him on the bed, giving his thigh a sympathetic pat. He doesn’t say anything, just lets Elio keep going.

“He starts talking about how his secretary is on vacation and how he’s got all this work coming up and blah, blah, blah. I kinda forget about the whole test thing for a second because I realize, I’m really over him, I can’t believe I was ever remotely interested in any of this. And then he said, ‘I have some news.’” Elio blows his nose and starts crying again, tears rolling down his cheeks in rapid succession.

“He told me that after our breakup, he was going to a bunch of clubs, sleeping with random guys. Not using condoms, obviously. He didn’t want to worry me and he doesn’t expect anything from me, but he just wanted to make sure I got tested.” Elio makes a frustrated sound. “He wasn’t supposed to do this. He was supposed to date a transitional person or something and then find someone else. I can’t believe --” Elio hiccups. “I can’t believe he’s going to die. If I had stayed with him. If we had worked it out, he wouldn’t be sick.”

“If you could change it all, have him back, would you?”

“No,” Elio whines. “Not because of...of this. We just weren’t right for each other. But _this_ wouldn’t have happened! God, I drove him away and now I’m going to be forty and I have _no one_.”

“When?”

“Someday.”

“In eight years.” Oliver sighs and wraps his arms around Elio’s shoulders. “C’mere. It’s going to be okay. You’ll be okay.” He knows he’s shitty at comforting people, but Elio falls easily into his arms and presses his face right into Oliver’s chest.

“I’m making a mess of your sweater,” Elio murmurs, voice muffled by the fabric.

“That’s okay. It wasn’t one of my favorites anyway.” Oliver pulls back a little and kisses Elio’s forehead. “I’ll make you some tea.”

But Elio’s hands tighten around Oliver’s sweater. “Oliver, could you hold me a little longer?”

“Sure,” Oliver says, about to pull him in again. But Elio is looking up at him with his big doe eyes, looking almost like he’s searching for something. Elio leans in and kisses him, just a soft peck on the lips. Oliver is caught slightly off guard, but he returns the kiss, another soft peck, and they go back and forth until they’re fully kissing.

Elio falls back onto the bed, pulling Oliver with him, who goes easily. He knows they should probably talk about this, but Oliver is actually kissing him back and it feels so _right_. He hooks a leg over Oliver's side, effectively bringing them closer as Oliver's lips move down to his neck. 

"Fuck," Elio breathes as he winds his fingers into Oliver's hair. “Oliver…”

“I got you,” comes Oliver’s rumbling voice as he rucks up Elio’s shirt. They separate long enough to strip off each other’s shirts and pants, coming back together in just boxers. When Elio wraps his leg around Oliver’s hip this time, their cocks press together with just thin fabric between this time. They both moan and Elio wriggles a little underneath Oliver. “What?” Oliver asks, pulling back a little.

“I want you.” It’s the boldest, the most straightforward Eio has ever been, especially in bed.

Oliver’s answering, “Fuck yes,” is enough to have them both scrambling. Elio rolls onto his side to fish out lube and a condom from his bedside table while Oliver works on getting them both out of their boxers. Once they’re settled again, Elio actually gets a glimpse of Oliver, now fully naked, and his eyes widen. He’s _huge_ , not that Elio is complaining. Oliver catches him staring and smirks. “Hey, you’re not so bad yourself.”

Elio’s cheeks flush bright pink and he turns his head into the pillow. But then Oliver’s hand wraps around his cock and Elio arches into the touch, trying to thrust up. Oliver’s other hand lands on his hip, holding him steady as he jacks him off. “Please,” he murmurs, not ashamed to beg.

“There’s so much I want to --” Oliver cuts himself off and Elio spreads his legs further when he hears the _snick_ of the lube. “So much I’ve wanted to do.” He leans down and licks over Elio’s nipple. For a second, Elio thinks Oliver will keep making his way down, but then he feels a lubed finger press against his hole. “But this is at the top of the list.”

Elio has never heard Oliver talk like this before, his voice filled with tender reverence. He doesn’t question it though, just lets Oliver open him up with gentle fingers. It feels better than he could have imagined, and Elio has _definitely_ imagined this too many times to count. As much as he hates to admit it, Oliver has been the focus of many of his sex fantasies since the day they met. What can he say? The guy is practically a god.

Meanwhile, Oliver is pressing soft kisses along Elio’s neck as he pushes a second finger into him. Oliver has been thinking about this for so long and he can barely process his thoughts now that it’s finally happening. So he just tries to commit it all to memory: the way Elio squirms beneath him, his moans, the way he feels around Oliver’s fingers, soft skin under Oliver’s lips Soon enough, Elio is begging for _more, more, more_ , ever so demanding and needy. But Oliver actually finds it quite endearing.

With one last kiss to Elio’s cheek, Oliver slips his finger out to instead roll on the condom and drizzle some more lube over his now covered cock. Elio huffs a bit as he rearranges himself on the pillow, a mess of wild curls and long limbs, until he’s finally comfortable with his legs perfectly spread.

“Well come on,” Elio purrs, “what are you waiting for?”

There’s apparently nothing like Elio’s desperation to kick Oliver into action. He drapes himself over Elio, who immediately wraps his legs around Oliver’s waist. He reaches down between them, gripping the base of his cock as he slowly starts to push into Elio. Elio makes a small noise of discomfort and scrunches up his nose. Oliver swoops in, soothing him with soft kisses until he’s fully buried inside.

When Elio finally whispers, “Move,” Oliver thinks he might cry. He begins moving his hips, just short little bursts. He can’t pull back too far given Elio’s hold on him, which is totally fine. He likes being close to Elio, especially since he can push his face into Elio’s neck and kiss the spot that makes him squirm. Elio gasps and his arms and legs tighten around Oliver. _Ah,_ Oliver thinks, totally smug, _the prostate._

“Whoever said the soul and the body met in the pineal gland was a fool. It’s the asshole, stupid.”

That makes Elio giggle, which sends Oliver into a fit of laughter as well. They smile at one another as Oliver rolls his hips, trying to hit that spot each time.

“Please touch me,” Elio begs, just a few moments later. Their foreheads and noses are pressed together and Oliver is absolutely lost in the depth of Elio’s eyes. He’s so embedded in the green abyss that it takes him a second to register Elio’s request and snake a hand between their sweaty bodies.

Oliver brings Elio off with assured strokes of his hand that have Elio arching up into the touch. They cum together, whispering each other’s names back and forth, trading gentle kisses as they tremble in one another’s arms. Once Oliver pulls out and discards the condom, he flops back on the bed just in time for Elio to roll onto his chest. His hair is a mess, sticking up in all sorts of directions as he settles in Oliver’s arms.

“You comfortable?”

Oliver can hear the smile in Elio’s voice. “Mmhm.”

“Do you want anything? I’m going to get up for some water, so it’s not a problem.”

Oliver nods but is met with a faceful of hair. “Okay. Water’s good.”

Elio slips out of bed, grabbing Oliver’s shirt and wrapping it around his small frame as he slips into the kitchen. He runs the tap for a moment before filling two glasses, a stupid smile plastered over his face.

When Elio tiptoes back in, Oliver is sitting up in bed. They both sip from their glasses, letting the gravity of what they’ve just done settle. It’s awkward and everything seems louder than it actually is: Oliver shifting against the pillows, Elio taking a gulp of water.

“Do you want to watch something?” Elio suddenly asks, nodding toward the TV.

“No, not unless you do.”

“No, that’s okay. Do you want to go to sleep?”

“Sure.”

Elio turns out the light and they both shuffle under the sheets. Once they settle down, it’s back to deafening silence.

“Are you comfortable?” Elio whispers.

“Sure.”

“Goodnight, Oliver.”

“Goodnight, Elio.”

Surprisingly, Elio falls asleep easily, even with Oliver right next to him. He figures though, right as he’s about to pass out, that good sex will do that to you. When he opens his eyes next, he sees it’s 6 in the morning. He rolls over, seeking out some more warmth from Oliver, but finds that side of the bed empty. He groans and pushes up onto his elbows to see Oliver getting dressed.

“I gotta go. I have to change clothes and then go to work. But I’d like to take you out to dinner if you’re free. Are you free?”

“Yes."

“Good, I’ll call you later.”

“Good.” Oliver leans down for a small kiss which Elio is too sleepy to return before Oliver is waltzing out the door.

Elio sits there for a second, stunned, trying to piece everything together. He reaches for the phone and punches in Marzia’s number.

“Hello?”

It’s clear Marzia has just woken up, probably because of Elio’s phone call, but he can’t feel any remorse; not when he’s fucked up big time. “Sorry to call so early, but I did something terrible.”

“What did you do?”

“It’s so awful. Oliver came over last night because I was upset about Maynard. He was comforting me and before I knew it we were kissing and then… We did it.”

“Oh, that’s great, Elio! You should have done it in the first place. You belong together. How was he, anyway?”

“ _I_ thought it was good...but then I guess it wasn’t. It was like he just disappeared.”

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry.”

“I’m so embarrassed.” Elio sniffles and looks out the window from his bed, pout firmly in place. “I think I’m catching a cold.”  
  
“You should never go to bed with anyone after hearing from an ex. It’s always a mistake.”

“I’m gonna go back to bed, I think.”  
  
“Good, it’s so early. I’ll call you later, okay?”

Elio nods and says his farewell, hanging up the phone before pulling the covers back up over his head.

Just as Marzia hangs up the phone and lays back down, the line on Nick’s side of the bed starts going. The couple groans and Nick lets the phone ring for a moment until Marzia’s fist collides with his chest. He rolls over and picks up the receiver. “No one I know would call at this hour.”

“Nick, I have a call-at-any-hour relationship with you, okay?”

Nick sighs. It’s Oliver, dramatic as always. “What’s the matter?”

“I went over to Elio’s last night and one thing led to another… To make a long story short, we did it.”

Nick sits up in bed and looks down at Marzia who just shrugs, eyes still closed. “We’ve been praying for it, Oliver. For _months_ we’ve been saying, if only they would do it. That’s great, how was it?”

“The during part was good. After, I started feeling suffocated. I just wanted to get out of there. I feel terrible.”

Nick rolls his eyes. _Of course._ Oliver must’ve pulled his usual escape plan. “You should.”

“I think I’m coming down with something.” Oliver coughs over the line, but it doesn’t sound very convincing.

“Look,” Nick sighs, “it would have been great if it worked, but it didn’t. Now you have a really comic mess on your hands. Call me later if you want to talk, okay?” Nick and Oliver say their goodbyes and once the phone is back in its cradle, Nick collapses back into bed with a huff.

“God,” Marzia whispers, immediately turning into Nick’s chest.

“I know.”  
  
“Tell me I’ll never have to be out there again,” she begs.

“You’ll never have to be out there again,” he promises just as easily as he wraps an arm around his fiancée.

Later that afternoon, Elio stands in front of his mirror, inspecting himself as he gets ready for dinner with Oliver. He called in sick to work, not feeling up to seeing his fellow orchestra members. He finishes buttoning his pink striped shirt, the one he wore after Oliver told him to wear more pink. He leans in and studies his reflection. He has just the barest hint of a mustache, so he runs his razor over his top lip. After rinsing his face he wrinkles his nose at his reflection. Something just doesn’t look right.

“I’ll just say we made a mistake,” he says to himself as he dries his face. “I just hope I get to say it first.

Oliver, meanwhile, is showering at his own apartment. “Elio, this was a mistake,” he rehearses. He’s said it over and over, trying to make it sound as convincing as possible. “Fuck, I just hope he says it first.”

They meet at a small Italian place near Elio’s apartment and he hates how date-like this feels as they look over their menus. Well, except for the added awkwardness. Once the waiter has taken their orders and each has a glass of wine, Elio dives right in. “It was a mistake.”

“I’m so relieved you think so too.” They both take large gulps of their wine, totally in sync. “I’m not saying last night wasn’t a physically pleasurable experience.”

“It was.”

“Yes, it was,” Oliver confirms, and Elio almost turns back right then and there, almost goes on to say that he _needs_ Oliver, that they should actually try dating. 

But he doesn’t. Instead, Elio shakes his head and says, “We never should have done it.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“I’m so relieved.”

They both nod. _That’s that_. Their appetizers show up just then and they eat in silence until Oliver says, “It’s so nice when you can sit with someone and not have to talk. It just shows how comfortable you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absolutely loving everyone's thoughts so far -- thank you so much! xoxo


	6. Chapter 6

Nick and Oliver are at the gym together, working on a weightlifting circuit, thankfully out of earshot of other gym-goers. “It’s just like, most of the time, you sleep with someone and then you tell each other all your stories. But with Elio, we’ve already heard each other’s stories, so once we finished, we didn’t know what we were supposed to do.”

“Sure, Oliver,” Nick huffs out as he pushes the bar over his head. Oliver is _supposed_ to be spotting him, but is mainly lamenting about his one night stand with Elio.

“I don’t know, you get to a certain point in a relationship where it’s just too late to have sex.”

Across town in Bloomingdale’s, Elio sits in a comfortable armchair, sipping a glass of champagne as he waits for Marzia. He usually hates going to department stores, but the bridal suite of Bloomingdale’s isn’t all that bad. He makes a mental note to ask the attendant the brand of this particular chair; he loves the way he sinks into it. Although, he’d probably have to go with a darker cream to match his apartment. Or maybe a deep blue. He sighs and takes another sip, glancing over at another bride as she picks up her dress.

“Is Oliver bringing Emily to the wedding?”  
  
“They broke up,” comes Marzia’s voice from the dressing room.

“Is he seeing anyone?”

“No idea. Nick and I saw him out with some woman: thin, pretty, big tits, any woman’s nightmare.” There’s a pause before the dressing room door opens and Marzia steps out in a pure white dress, covered with beading and puffy sleeves to boot. A real Lady Di dream, complete with a veil clipped into her hair. “So? What do you think?”

“Oh, Marzia,” Elio whispers, tears immediately springing to his eyes. “It’s just beautiful.”

“Tell me the truth,” Marzia requests, looking at herself in the mirror. “You don’t think it’s silly?”

“It’s beautiful.” Elio chokes on his words and he quickly swipes at the tears on his cheeks. “Simply gorgeous.”

Marzia squeals and, suddenly, Elio is being pulled up out of his perch and into a bone-crushing hug.

The wedding sneaks up on Elio, coming up way faster than he preferred. It’s just before Christmas, and every decoration for the wedding involves holly or boughs or red and green plaid. He meant to get a date, find _someone_ he could go with. But no one came through and he ends up going stag. He’s dressed impeccably, though, in a crisp emerald suit that Marzia chose for him. “You’re my maid of honor,” she had said as they tried on suit after suit, “I need you looking sharp.”

The ceremony is simple, aside from the few moments that Elio and Oliver caught each other’s eyes during the vows. The reception is at a hall just down the block, and the crowd mills about with cocktails until Marzia and Nick come in through the grand doors, making their entrance as husband and wife. Elio, thankfully, has been occupying his time with an older couple, one of Nick’s uncles or something. Of course, when the couple excuses themselves, Oliver is in sight, and he makes his way over to Elio.

“Hi,” Oliver says, coming up to Elio, champagne in hand.

“Hello.”

“Nice ceremony.”

Elio nods, looking off in the opposite direction. He’s uncomfortable, there’s no denying; but he’s not going to get involved or even pretend to be interested in the conversation. “Beautiful.”

“Boy, the holidays are rough. Every year I just _try_ to get from Thanksgiving to New Year’s.”

Elio hums. “A lot of suicides.”

“So, how’ve you been?” Oliver asks after a few moments of silence.

“Fine.”

“Nick told me you’re seeing someone. How’s everything with - what is it? Julian?”

“Oliver, I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Is it because of what happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it!”

“Why can’t we get past this?” Oliver pleads. “I mean, are we gonna carry this thing around forever?”

“Forever?” Elio repeats, aghast. “It just happened!”  
  
“Yeah, three weeks ago. You know how a year to a person is, like, seven to a dog?”

Elio’s responding laugh is bitter. “Is one of us supposed to be a dog in this situation?”

“Yes. You are.”

“I am? I’m the dog?”

“Yes.”

Elio is visibly fuming now, and people around them start to stare. He grabs Oliver’s wrist and tugs hard, leading him toward the back of the room where the kitchens are. “I don’t see that, Oliver. If anyone is the dog, it’s _you_. To you, this is just something that happened and you think you can say great, it happened, now let’s get on with it, back to the way it was, like what happened didn’t mean anything.” He shoves the kitchen door open and hauls Oliver inside.

“I’m not saying it didn’t mean anything, but why does it have to mean _everything_?”

“Because it does! And the minute it happened, you walked right out the door.”

“I didn’t, I --”  
  
“No, sprinted more like it.”

“Elio, we both agreed it was a mistake.”

“Yeah, the worst mistake I ever made.”

“I’m so done, Elio, with all of your ridiculous expectations. The way you expect me to behave --”

“You don’t have to behave any way with me now, okay?”  
  
“Alright, fine,” Oliver says, throwing his hands up. “But let’s get one thing straight. I didn’t go over there that night to sleep with you. But what was I supposed to do? You looked at me with those big weepy eyes.” He puts on a higher-pitched voice and clutches a hand to his chest, widening his eyes, “‘Don’t go home tonight, Oliver. Hold me a little longer, Oliver.’”

“What are you saying? That it was a pity fuck?” Well, that’s the last fucking straw for Elio. He winds his arm back and _crack_ , slaps Oliver hard across the face. He spins on his heel and storms out of the kitchen, Oliver close behind.

As soon as he’s out of the doors, though, he finds all of the wedding guests turned toward a small stage where Marzia and Nick are standing with a microphone and glasses of champagne. “I want to propose a toast to Oliver and Elio,” Nick says, raising his glass. “If Marzia or I had found either of them remotely attractive, we would not be here today.” The entire crowd laughs and raises their glasses in a toast. Marzia laughs and tosses her bouquet, straight at Elio. He watches it soar through the air, planning on letting it fall to the ground, but, at the last second, he reaches out and catches it.

The next day, Elio goes out to the nearby plant shop, bundled up against the cold and snow. Everywhere he looks there are twinkly lights and happy children, people carrying large presents and Santas ringing bells on every corner. He buys his Christmas tree and, after paying, stares at it for a few minutes, utterly lost as to how he’s going to get it home. He sighs, wishing Oliver were there to help him again, and grabs the trunk, dragging it behind him and leaving a trail of pine needles as he makes his way home.

Just as he finishes getting the tree in the stand, the side without needles toward the wall, Elio’s phone rings. He lets it go to voicemail, too busy fiddling with the branches. The machine beeps and then clicks, and Elio stops moving as Oliver’s voice filters through the speaker.

“Hi, it’s me. It’s the holidays and I thought I’d remind you that this is a season of forgiveness and charity. So, if you felt like calling me back, it would make me a very happy person.”

The next afternoon, as Elio puts away his groceries, his presses play on his machine. He’s been out all day, work and then multiple errands, and there are a few messages on the machine. Just as he’s putting his fruit in the appropriate refrigerator drawer, Oliver’s voice comes over the machine once more.

“Hello, if you’re there, please pick up. I really want to talk to you.” There’s a pause and Elio can hear Oliver sigh. “I’ll take this as a sign that you're not home. Or else you are home and you have someone over. Some cretin. And if he’s there with you now, please understand when I say cretin, I mean it in the _best_ possible sense of the world. You there? No? Okay. Well, call me back.”

Oliver leaves a string of voicemails over the next few days that get increasingly embarrassing, most of them ending in him changing the lyrics of songs to instead beg for a call back. The last message Elio listens to makes him give in: “Obviously, you don’t want to talk to me. If you want to call me, you’ll call me. I’m making a schmuck out of myself. But...give me a call.”

Elio glares at his phone. The voicemail is uncomfortably empty. He picks it up. Then puts it down again. He paces the entirety of his apartment before finally picking up the phone and dialing Oliver’s number. “Hi, Oliver.”

“Hey! Hi, I didn’t think you were going to...Hi, what are you doing?”

“I...was just on my way out.”

“Where are you going?”

Elio sighs and looks up at the ceiling. “What do you want, Oliver?”  
  
“Nothing, I just called to ask...what are you doing for New Year’s? Are you going to Tyler’s party?” Elio doesn’t respond, so Oliver continues. “Do you have a date? ‘Cause I don’t and we always said if neither of us had a date on New Year’s…”

“Oliver, I can’t do this anymore. I am not your consolation prize.” With that, Elio hangs up the phone. He sags, with relief or grief he can’t tell, and sinks to the kitchen floor, the ceramic tile cold on his skin.

New Year’s Eve rolls around and Oliver finds himself in his apartment, in his bed, watching Dick Clark on TV. He reaches into a bowl of pistachios, smiling as he cracks open the shell. Elio _loves_ them, but loves to shove the pistachio shells between Oliver’s couch cushions even more.

“What’s so bad about this?” Oliver asks himself as he looks back at the TV. “You have Dick Clark, that’s tradition. You have Malomars, the greatest cookie of all time.” He tries to concentrate on the TV, but his mind drifts to New Year’s Eve a year earlier, dancing with Elio at Tyler’s party. His chest constricts and he feels like he can’t breathe. “Maybe some fresh air would be good right now.”

Elio, on the other hand, made it to Tyler’s party. He’s dancing with some guy, far too tall for his liking, who dips him without warning. Elio is appalled, eyes wide as he’s set upright. He catches Marzia’s eye and they swoop close to one another as they each dance, Marzia paired with Nick. “I don’t know why I let you drag me to this.” Before Marzia can respond, Elio is dipped again.

As Oliver walks down the deserted sidewalk, he has to reassure himself: “This is good, this is good. New Year’s Resolution #1: I gotta do this more often. Window shopping. All the fun, none of the expense.” He spots a couple walking down the opposite sidewalk; she’s laughing. Oliver is reminded of Elio laughing in the Temple of Dendur. _Pepper. Paprikash. Pepper. Elio is laughing._

Oliver shakes his head, agitated by his thoughts.

Meanwhile, at the party, Elio is faux-laughing at a joke some man has just told him. As Marzia passes by, Elio turns and his face passes from happiness to anguish. “I’m going home.”  
  
“You’ll never get a taxi,” Marzia says easily as she’s whisked away by Nick toward the bar. Elio turns back to the jokester, the smile replastered onto his face.

Oliver finds himself at Washington Square Arch, right where Elio dropped him off all those years ago. He’s licking an ice cream cone he bought from the only open place: a cart down the block. “This was a good move,” he says to a lone pigeon. Seems like even the wildlife has plans this New Year’s Eve. “It’s ten degrees, practically a million below, and I’m eating ice cream.” He looks up at the arch, all lit up, and wonders what happened to the little car they drove down in from Chicago; Elio’s voice floats through his mind. _Too bad. You were the only person I knew in New York. Have a nice life._

He dumps the ice cream cone, the wind knocking him out of his thoughts and bringing back to reality. He turns his collar up and begins walking. After a block or so, his pace starts to quicken until he’s full out sprinting down the street.

At the party, it’s almost midnight. Balloons, confetti, the disco ball: it’s all there and ready. The excitement in the room builds as midnight approaches, but Elio would much rather be in bed. “I’m going,” he says, starting to excuse himself from the small group he, Nick, and Marzia are talking to.

“It’s almost midnight,” Marzia reasons, by way of begging.

“I can’t stand the thought of not kissing somebody.”

“I’ll kiss you,” Nick offers.

“Thanks, but I have to go.”

As Elio goes to the coat check, Oliver continues running, feet pounding hard against the sidewalk. Elio slips his coat on and then turns to Marzia and Nick, kissing them goodbye. Oliver turns the corner.

“Oh, just stay two more minutes,” Marzia says in French as she kisses Elio’s cheek, her voice dropped low.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” Just as Elio turns around, Oliver is there, panting and looking like he’s just run the marathon. They lock eyes and Oliver comes toward Elio.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Oliver says slowly, just as he comes to stop in front of Elio. _This is it, Burns. Now or never._ “And the thing is, I love you.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

Elio scoffs. “How do you expect me to respond to this?”  
  
“How about you love me, too?”

“How about: I’m leaving.” Elio pushes past Oliver and toward the door, but Oliver follows her like a lost dog.

“Doesn’t what I said mean anything to you?”  
  
The crowd is swelling, shouting, and then there’s a joyous _Happy New Year!_ Auld Lang Syne starts playing as confetti falls from the ceiling.

“What is it supposed to mean?” Elio asks, spinning to face Oliver once again. He glowers at Oliver, trying to concentrate on him instead of the kissing couples surrounding them. “I’m sorry, Oliver. I know it’s New Year’s and that you’re feeling lonely, but you can’t just show up here and tell me you love me and expect that to make it all better. What am I supposed to say? Oh great, that settles everything? It doesn’t _work_ this way!” Elio is starting to grow hysterical, tears pricking his eyes.

“Well, how does it work, then?” Oliver asks, suspiciously calm.

“I don’t know. But not like this.”

“How about this way then.” Oliver takes a step closer, close enough that Elio has to crane his neck to look up at Oliver. “I love how you get cold when it’s 65 degrees out. I love the way you pout, the way your mouth turns down just a little bit, just like it is now. I love how it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love the way you play piano and your passion for music and what you do. I even loved when you used my sweater for a tissue. I love it that after spending an entire day with you, I can still smell you on my clothes. I love how you’re the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night and the first person I want to talk to when I wake up. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

“See, that’s just like you, Oliver,” Elio says, his voice wrought with emotion. The tears are spilling over his cheeks now. “You say things like that, and you make it impossible for me to hate you. And I hate you, Oliver. I _hate you_.”

Suddenly, Elio is pulled into Oliver and they’re kissing, Oliver’s strong arms wrapped around his back. He sinks into the feeling, letting Oliver fully support his weight.

Oliver pulls back, breathless, as _Auld Lang Syne_ continues to play. “My whole life I have never known what this song means. I mean, should old acquaintance be forgot. Does that mean we could forget old acquaintances or does it mean that if we forget them, we should remember them?”

“I think you’re just supposed to remember them or something. Anyway, it’s about old friends.” Elio smiles despite his previous tears and then they’re kissing again. _It's the kiss of a lifetime._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there, just one more chapter tomorrow!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is -- the last chapter!  
> *edited to include my poorly made copy of the movie poster*

**Epilogue**

“God, remember when we first met?” Oliver asks as they walk down the cobbled pathway. “We hated each other.”

“You didn’t hate me, I hated you. The second time we met, you didn’t even remember me.”  
  
Oliver laughs and squeezes Elio’s hand. “I did too! Besides, it was the third time we met we became friends.”  
  
Elio hums and tilts his head back to look up at the night sky. It’s dark and he can see every star twinkling against deep navy. It’s something he misses terribly about Italy. “We were friends for a long time. And then we weren’t.” He rolls his head to lean on Oliver’s shoulder, his temple coming to rest on the soft crushed burgundy velvet of Oliver’s tux. “And then we fell in love.”

“Two months later, here we are.”

“Here we are,” Elio repeats. He grins and squeezes Oliver’s hand back, loving the way the ring on his left hand pinches his finger.

Oliver had proposed in record time, just two weeks after New Year’s Eve. Elio, of course, had said yes, through many tears. They invited their close friends and family to a commitment ceremony and reception in Italy. A week before the wedding, they headed over to introduce Oliver to the Perlman family, who took to Oliver immediately, much to Elio’s relief. He was sure his mom even developed a small crush on Oliver. But then, Elio figured, who wouldn’t?

Elio’s father officiated the ceremony, his mother and their housekeeper prepared all the food, and, of course, Nick and Marzia were in attendance as best man and maid of honor. The ceremony was perfect, under a flower-covered pergola in the Perlman’s backyard in Crema.

“You’re too smart not to know how rare, how special what you two have is,” Samuel said during the ceremony, standing in front of the two boys as they held hands. “Oliver, I couldn’t ask for a better man for my son. You are both lucky to have found each other. When you least expect it, nature has cunning ways of finding our weakest spot. Your relationship has been tumultuous, to say the least.” The small crowd laughed, everyone well aware of Elio and Oliver’s ups and downs. “But when there was pain, you nursed it. When there was a flame, you did not snuff it out. Our hearts and our bodies are given to us once only and so we must make the most of the lives we are given. Long after every forked road in life has done its work, this, your relationship, will always be true. You have crossed to the other side, where time stops and heaven reaches down to earth and gives us that ration of what is from birth divinely ours. You have found the stars, and this is given once only.”

Vows were exchanged, food is enjoyed, drinks are imbibed, and then the party moved to the patio where they set up a dance floor. Elio and Oliver simply couldn’t keep their hands off of one another, Annella only able to cut in to dance with Oliver for a few minutes.

“It was a perfect day,” Oliver says after their quiet reminiscing.

“Mmh. A beautiful wedding.”  
  
“And that coconut cake. Incredible.”

“With chocolate sauce _on the side_ ,” Elio teases.

“Yeah, because not everybody likes the sauce right on top of their cake.” The two dissolve into laughter, memories of epic feuds over wedding details flooding back.

_“No, Oliver, I don’t want the chocolate in the cake I want it on the side.”_

_“Do you want the coconut on the side too? The icing? The cake itself? Why don’t we just make it a DIY situation then? Have everyone put together their own damned cake.”_

Elio stops walking and pulls Oliver under the peach trees, currently barren considering the cool later-March weather. “Remember Union Square?” he asks, his voice low and tempting.

“Elio,” Oliver chastises, “we have _guests_.” The party is still in full force, the din of the music flowing from the patio over to where Oliver currently has Elio pressed against a tree trunk.

“When has that ever stopped you?” Elio purrs, reminding them both of the time they slipped away to the bedroom while Nick and Marzia were over.

“It’s our wedding night.”  
  
“All the more reason to,” Elio counters. He smiles, knowing he won the argument well before it started. When they finally kiss, Elio feels like he’s coming home. This moment has been _years_ in the making, and he can’t quite believe they actually made it. Despite all odds, they figured their shit out and got together. He’s pretty sure Marzia and Nick had a bet on it, even if they won’t admit it. “Take me upstairs,” Elio breathes as Oliver pulls away, his lips now trailing down Elio’s neck.

They slip into the villa unnoticed, giggling as they chase each other up the stairs and into Elio’s room. They’ve pushed the twin beds together to form one large bed. Elio’s parents had, of course, offered them one of the larger guest rooms, but they refused, Oliver insisting that he wanted to really experience Elio’s childhood. They collapse onto the bed all tangled up in one another, each one reaching at odd angles to try and undress the other. Finally, after suit jackets and bow ties have been discarded, Oliver rolls on top of Elio. They look at one another, trying to catch their breath. But then the music drifts in through the open window and they burst out laughing again. They roll around a bit more, finally settling with Elio sitting on top of Oliver’s thighs.

“So,” he says, dropping his voice down low. “You gonna fuck me, or what?”

“Jesus, Elio,” Oliver hisses, his hands wrapping around slender thighs.

“What?” Elio asks with a teasing roll of his hips. “I’m not allowed to ask _politely_ for my husband's cock?” Ever since getting together, Elio has been insatiable. To be fair, so has Oliver, and who is he to deny Elio what he wants? Oliver pushes up onto his elbows, capturing Elio’s lips in a sweet kiss before jostling him a bit to grab the lube, kicked down toward the bottom of the bed from their lovemaking earlier that morning.

“You’re such a pest,” Oliver accuses, just as he presses now wet fingers between Elio’s legs. All Elio can do is let out a sigh of relief as he sinks down on Oliver’s fingers, taking two right off the bat. “That’s it,” Oliver coos with a ridiculous smirk. “Still open from earlier, huh?” Oliver opens him up with sure fingers, hitting all the right spots that make Elio groan. “You ready for me?”

Elio nods, whines when Oliver pulls his fingers out, but can’t find the room to complain when he hears Oliver slicking up his cock. The day they got engaged they got tested and ditched the condoms, at Oliver’s suggestion. It was a commitment that had Elio in a puddle of tears all over again. He had sobbed as he looked down between the shiny new ring on his finger and the unwrapped condoms in the trash as Oliver held him from behind and whispered sweet words against his ear.

_“How come it always ends up with me crying on this sweater?” Elio asked after, curled up in bed, dressed in nothing but Oliver’s sweater._

_“I wear it when I know you’re going to cry,” Oliver explained. “Same color as a Kleenex box and everything.”_

Elio is brought back to the present as Oliver rubs his cock against his hole. He opens his eyes to find his husband looking up at him, brows raised. Elio nods, signaling that he’s ready. He plants his hands on Oliver’s chest, looking down at the way his ring glints in the moonlight. Goosebumps rise up over Elio’s skin and he shivers as Oliver pushes in. “You cold, baby? Want me to shut the window?"

And _God_ Elio just absolutely melts at that. He loves the way Oliver gets all soft and sweet with him given his usual cynicism and sharp wit. In bed, though, he’s always so attentive to Elio, knowing exactly what he needs before Elio can even voice it. “No,” he whispers as he settles on Oliver’s hips. “No, I’m good. Thank you.”

Oliver laughs at him, but Elio just closes his eyes, concentrating on the feeling of Oliver inside of him. He doesn’t even have to ask Oliver to start moving, he _just knows_ , and he starts moving his hips in tiny thrusts. Elio’s eyes flutter open as Oliver squeezes his hips and they smile at each other as Elio begins meeting Oliver’s hips with slow rolls.

“I love you,” Oliver says, and the sentiment makes Elio’s heart stutter and his stomach flip.

“I love you, too, Oliver Burns. So very much.”

A few moments later, when Oliver wraps his hand around Elio’s leaking cock, he knows Oliver must be getting close. He loves when they cum together, just like that first time, and Elio arches into Oliver's touch.

“Please,” Elio begs, voice hoarse, not realizing just how keyed up he’s been. Now that Oliver is touching him, though, he is desperate for release.

Oliver holds Elio’s hip with his free hand, fingers digging into porcelain flesh as he snaps his hips up hard, the sound of skin slapping together and their moans mingling in the darkness. Elio cums with a cry of Oliver’s name on his lips, Oliver following close behind.

Elio’s arms are shaking and he finally lets himself fall onto Oliver, pushing his face into his husband’s neck. They’re both panting, Elio’s lithe frame rising and falling with Oliver’s chest. Oliver’s cock is still inside him, but Elio can feel the spot where he has cum dripping out of his ass, and he can also feel the wet spot he left behind on Oliver’s stomach. He can’t bring himself to move, far too comfortable with Oliver’s nose buried in his curls.

“Hey, do you ever think of Archibald?”

“What?” Elio grunts. “Who?”  
  
“Archie Clark, remember? The first night we met you claimed you had incredible sex with him.”

Elio coughs as he laughs, still out of breath. “Jesus, Oliver, is that really what you’re thinking about right now? It’s our _wedding night_.”

“Well, we just had some pretty incredible sex, so --”  
  
Elio cuts Oliver off with a sharp kiss, even going so far as to bite Oliver’s bottom lip. “I don’t ever think about anyone else but you,” he admits. “My faceless man even has a face now. And it looks suspiciously like yours.”

When they finally reemerge, Elio now wearing Oliver’s too-big blue button-down shirt instead of his white tux and Oliver in khaki shorts and a green polo, no one says anything. They just rejoin their wedding party and are swept up onto the dance floor. As Oliver dips him, Elio looks up at the villa, into his open bedroom window. When he’s upright again, they both smile, full well knowing that everyone must’ve heard them.

" />

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends my CMBYN Big Bang! I hope you all enjoyed reading this little story as much as I loved writing it! xoxo


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